As The World Begins to End
by Forfun100
Summary: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains." Jill Valentine combat expert, zombie killer, and refined lady knows the only thing more dangerous than the undead, is love. The Pride Prejudice and Zombies/Resident Evil mashup NO ONE ASKED FOR.
1. A Fascinating Girl

She hears the ragged panting of the beast long before it senses her presence. With a pause, she evaluates her options. It's far too early to wake the county with a shot of her gun. Her only other opinion lies in the daggers she brought with her this morning instead of her sword. It's a beginner's mistake – she should and _does_ know better – but the damn blade makes far too much noise on her otherwise peaceful morning walks. She doesn't feel particularly inclined to engage in close combat so early, but the Grahams will certainly send an angry letter to her father for firing her gun in the wee hours of the morning. Of course, they might be less inclined to do so if they saw the zombie attempting to break into their estate.

With a sigh, Jill lifts her skirts and dislodges her gun from its holster, loading it lethargically as the creature smashes its body into the iron door before it. The pale morning sun gleams off of the pristine metal of her pistol and a thin scream ruptures from within the mansion. A maid has clearly discovered the unmentionable trying to break in. This only spurs the corpse to further pursue its mission of invading the structure with rapid enthusiasm and a hungering cry for flesh.

Jill steps off of the trail and whistles at the monster. Once its attention is fully on her, Jill aims her gun. Before it can begin to sprint towards her, there's a steaming bullet hole in its head, and the beast collapses just inches away from the door. Jill gathers her skirts in her hand and approaches the creature to ensure it is in fact dead. Miss Valentine very rarely misses a shot, so of course, the zombie is motionless as she kicks it.

"Miss Valentine. What a surprise." Mr. Graham emerges from his home, servants huddled nervously behind him. "And an excellent display, as always."

"You flatter me, Mr. Graham. I do hope that you've not had trouble with the undead recently." She nods her head courteously as he approaches her and the deceased.

"Ah yes, this is the first sighting we've had in months." He snaps his fingers and his staff jump into action.

They begin the task of setting up a fire to dispose of the corpse, the only way to truly be rid of a zombie and avoid further infection. Burying such corpses risks water contamination, or worse yet, infecting the soil of a graveyard and raising hundreds of undead. Luckily, Jill has never experienced the phenomenon firsthand and has only heard of such happenings from her father.

"I am glad then, that this was taken care of so swiftly." Jill offers a soft smile.

"Yes…a pity. Mrs. Hamford was a good servant." He sighs, rubbing his whiskered chin before looking up at her. "What are you doing out at this hour, Miss Valentine?"

"I was taking my morning stroll, sir."

"Alone?"

"My father, as I'm certain you've heard, has been experiencing ill health as of late. I am well equipped to care for myself, however, and these walks keep my mind at ease."

"My apologies for your father, madam. I pray for his swift recovery."

"Thank you, sir."

Two of the male servants beg their pardon before removing the corpse from their master's feet. Jill watches as they toss the body onto the flames, thankful to see the end of a line of infection.

"Allow me to walk you home, Miss Valentine. It would be impertinent of me to send you on your way alone."

"There's no need, Mr. Graham, I am quite well-"

"You've no sword and you know better than myself that the morning dew tends to spring forth the dead unexpectedly from the earth." He chuckles, offering an arm to her.

With an internal sigh, Jill nods, "Very well, I thank you for your generosity."

Mr. Graham proclaims to his servants that he will return before leading the way back to Jill's family home. He's right about the dew awakening the undead, though more often, it is the rain that prompts a resurgence of those buried to rise. Zombification is a complicated science that mankind has barely begun to understand, but understand they do.

The illness originated from the mountains of Spain. Many still refer to the disease as its native _Las Plagas _and it is a most devastating condition. A new zombie is very nearly unrecognizable in the first hours of infection. Children turn faster than grown adults and are far more aggressive immediately. It takes a full day before the lust for blood and brains becomes too overwhelming for the infected.

Once a zombie has had its first feast, its skin begins to decompose, and with it, their humanity leaves the body. The soul of the once living person moves into the beyond, replaced by a most cruel monster. Left unattended, an undead will attack and brutalize family, friends, strangers, and enemies alike. It is a vicious disease, one that has forced mankind into a righteous panic in the last eighty years since its initial outbreak.

Starting in Spain, then rapidly spreading across the globe, it's no surprise that England too fell to the chaos. Thankfully, it did not take long for man to recognize that infected water supplies cause mass outbreaks and they developed filtration systems to combat the rise of zombie infections. Still, the rain triggers a chain reaction in many cemeteries and unmarked graves; top soil washes away, infections spread to the deceased, and out springs new recruits to the horde.

Oh yes, Jill knows the history of zombification, but more importantly, she knows how to combat such offensive creatures. They are a cruel invention of a godforsaken – and likely God abandoned – earth, one Jill Valentine intends to dismantle.

"How fares your mother?" Mr. Graham interrupts her thoughts on the matter.

"She is as well as can be expected with father's health, of course."

"And your vexations." He chuckles.

She smiles alongside him, "Yes, that too."

"Have you reconsidered your stance on marriage, miss?"

"Absolutely not, sir." Jill laughs, "But speaking on the subject, how was Ashley's honeymoon? I have not heard from her since the wedding."

"Ah, she and her husband enjoyed it immensely, I am surprised she has not written you, her oldest friend."

"Oldest being the key word, I'm afraid." Jill continues her polite laughter.

"She is but a day's ride away. I'm certain you could spare her a visit."

"I could, yes, but I'd not intrude on her happy marriage now. I will allow her such solitude for now. Though I do miss training with your daughter and the others." Jill glances at the muddied hem of her dress at the thought.

She and the young ladies of the county used to spend hours training for the inevitable battles women face against unmentionables. Be it walks into town or journeying to a social event, the creatures have made a habit of attacking travelers. Slowly, those trainings turned into dances and then into watching them marry. Each of her best friends laid down their swords in favor of wedding rings, a fate Jill has sworn to never obtain.

"I'm certain she'd love to hear from you." He says with a pat to her hand.

"I may write to her, in that case." Jill nods, the sight of her own residence coming into view ahead of them.

The Valentine Estate stands as a strong fortress before her with high brick fences and imposing steel boned windows. Perhaps, if she had not been raised in such a place, she would find it intimidating or reminiscent of a prison, but it is, instead, a sanctuary. One she is grateful to remain in for all her life if given the chance, so long as she can indulge in morning walks from time to time, of course.

"Thank you again, Mr. Graham, for escorting me home." Jill curtsies to him, hand poised on the gate handle.

"Thank you, for dealing with that unmentionable." He nods, "Give your father my best."

"Of course, sir, good day."

She swiftly enters the grounds and locks the gate behind her. With a resigned sigh, she walks briskly into the main hall. Her parents are not yet up for the day and so she dresses for combat training in their private training grounds.

How she wishes that ladies were permitted to train in breeches, but it is an unsightly proposition to all, most especially her mother. Who, for her part, has already been quite lenient with Jill's combat training, but it is the one stipulation her mother has hounded on, time and again.

"It's impractical, my darling! You'll never be caught dead in public wearing pantaloons, let alone be locked in combat against an unmentionable wearing such an article of clothing!"

Fortunately, her mother's insistence that she wear dresses in training has forced her close combat to be exceedingly realistic. How many women have been bested by their skirts? There are many a tale of fine ladies getting wrapped up in their gowns, and thus, are rendered unable to fight back against a zombie.

Jill spends the better part of the morning in meditation before running through her drills. Steady hands and a steadier mind have allowed her a practiced grace and ease during her own encounters with the undead. Still, there is always room for improvement.

"Mind your left elbow, dear. At that angle, you'd be lucky to still have your head." Her father's hoarse yet gentle intonations break her focus.

"You're out of bed this morning, Papa." She smiles at him.

"And now you are most definitely overwhelmed." He walks over to her with slow, careful movements heralded by his walking stick.

She preforms a quick maneuver, jumping to her hands then kicking out both legs. As she rises, she throws decisive jabs towards her invisible captors. Then, for good measure, she pulls out the knife she always keeps hidden just over her left shoulder.

Her father smiles with pride as he takes a seat, shouting positions for her to attack in. It's the first morning they've trained together in well over a week and, while she isn't certain this means his health is returning, she is grateful his stubbornness has recovered. After they've run through their typical training session and Jill's soaked with sweat, she kneels beside her father.

"Does mother know where you are?" She asks sweetly.

"I'm sure if she knows where you are, she will be well aware of my whereabouts." He chuckles, patting her head affectionately.

"Don't tell Mother." She sighs, "But there was an unmentionable at the Graham estate this morning."

"And how would you know about that, young miss?" He asks with a grin on his face that speaks to his knowledge of the situation.

"Oh, you know how desperately I need to leave our estate now and again, as it has been three days since mother and I went into town. Unless you _want_ both an unwed and a mad daughter on your hands, that is."

He shakes his head, amused by her insistence.

"You must be careful, Jill. All the training in the world couldn't help you against a horde of unmentionables."

"I know, Papa." She nods.

"Come, we've surely missed breakfast and your mother will pitch a fit if we do not arrive for a second meal."

"Yes, sir."

Jill helps her father to his feet. Together, the two of them make their way to the informal dinning hall. Mrs. Valentine gives them a sour look. Jill doesn't have to guess why, seeing the letter in her hand and the irate tone of her voice.

"Jillian Valentine! I am appalled that you left this house, unattended and without your sword!"

"Apologies, Mother." Jill sighs, helping her father to the table.

"If I didn't know better, I'd assume you were sneaking off with a man, but I do believe it is more likely your intent is to join the horde with such irresponsibility!"

Mrs. Valentine approaches her daughter.

"Imagine what turmoil you'd send to your father and I into if something were to happen!"

"It was only one unmentionable." Jill protests.

Mrs. Valentine lets out as stubborn a sigh before placing a hand on Jill's cheek, "You know better, darling, one unmentionable-"

"Could quickly become fifty. I know, I know." Jill looks away from her mother, both ashamed and frustrated.

"If you must get out of the house, please speak with me. I'll arrange something, but you mustn't run off. You're nearly twenty-two years of age, you must act it."

"Yes ma'am." Jill nods.

"Ladies, please, let us eat in peace." Mr. Valentine beckons them to take their seats.

The serving girls have begun to lay out their meal during the argument. As such, Jill and her mother resolve in silence to obey their patriarch's orders.

"Did Mrs. Graham say anything else in her letter?" Jill asks halfway through their meal, desperate for conversation.

"She did." Mrs. Valentine nods, "Apparently, Holloway Estate has finally been bought by an _eligible_ wealthy man."

Jill rolls her eyes at the mention.

"Do we know anything else about this young man?" Her father asks with a chuckle.

Mrs. Valentine's antics when it comes to suitors for her daughter have always been enthusiastic and, to Mr. Valentine at least, quite humorous.

"His name is Mr. Redfield and he'll be at the Somerton's party later this evening. Mrs. Graham spoke with Mrs. Somerton who says he's quite agreeable. Handsome, too."

"She'd think a pig handsome if he made enough money." Jill scoffs.

Her father holds back his laughter with a fist to his mouth while Mrs. Valentine gives her daughter a pointed look.

"Be that as it may, this could be your chance, Jill."

"Oh, I've had _many _chances, Mother. It's an unfortunate circumstance that I want for none of them."

"You seem to believe that life will always be as it is now, Jill. So did our ancestors when they first caught wind of _Las Plagas_."

"God help me." Jill groans as her mother continues.

"What will you do when your father and I are gone? You'll be destitute! Especially with the way you've insulted your cousins so."

"My cousins are frivolous cowards whose skills with the sword are only matched by their incompetence in decent conversation."

"Yes, you've said as much to them and they'll turn you out if they're given the chance." Her mother rolls her eyes, recalling the memory of that particular summer visit.

"Maybe I'll finally be allowed to join the army without your disapproval."

"Bold of you to assume that your mother would not disapprove from the beyond." Mr. Valentine jests.

"No woman has ever joined the army and you know that well." Mrs. Valentine ignores her husband.

"Perhaps I will no longer be a woman then." Jill claims, gaining a laugh from both of her parents.

"And throw away all the years of your mother spent grooming you? My dear, I can't imagine you'd give up on anything with such ease." Mr. Valentine laughs.

Mrs. Valentine shakes her head with a humored grin.

"Oh, Jill, you'd have made for a phenomenal son, but as a daughter, you are positively ruthless."

"I believe the blame for that does not lie within me." Jill gives her mother a smile. "My only saving grace is my beauty, I believe you said of me once before."

Her mother nods, "Indeed, and I was not wrong. Hopefully Mr. Redfield will see that tonight."

"Mother-"

"I thought you wanted to be out of the house, dearest." Her mother raises her brows at her.

Jill's mother, as gentle a wife there ever has been, retains the cunning she gained from her own combat training. With her wit and beauty, it's no wonder Mr. Valentine fell so deeply in love. It is, however, an unfortunate circumstance that Jill has taken on these feminine traits with a decided lack of romanticism. Instead, she gained her father's penchant and talent for war, useless interests for a lady of her social standing.

Yes, the daughter of the great world-renowned zombie slayer and retired General, Robert Valentine, was a bounty no man could ever hope to gain. Her father's wealth in both monetary and zombie slaying prestige will never have a son-in-law to fall to. The man has penned every notable book and article on the topic of zombie hunting and is Britain's most valuable asset in the fight against the horde. His bride, Sara Louise Valentine, had been a fierce warrior in her own right, but easily passed off her sword to become a bride and mother.

Such a fierce couple had raised a fiery little girl whose God-given task seems to be testing them at every turn, but she could be no more adored were she a princess.

"Very well, mother." Jill concedes.

"We'll have a splendid time, darling. And please, do your best to hold your tongue." Her mother stands from the table and kisses her daughter's cheek.

"Only if he proves he does not deserve its wrath." Jill chuckles, squeezing her mother's hand.

"God help us." Mr. Valentine laughs as the ladies make their exit.

Jill has much to attend to before a party, the first task being a bath and the second a self-indulgent reminder not to rush her judgements.

* * *

Irithyll didn't stop me from making this so here we are. (Go check out her fan fiction no one writes Valenfield like her and I would die for her)

I uh... When I tell you I did not mean for this to happen HOO BOY I DID NOT MEAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN.

We are all left with the same burning question: Why am I like this?


	2. A Most Unfortunate Encounter

Not one to skimp on the details, Jill ensures that every strand of hair and dagger is in their respective place as she readies for the night's festivities. As methodically as a huntress, she applies flush to her cheeks and fills her pockets with bullets, making a most appealing combination of deadly beauty. Jill is grateful that dark colors have returned to fashion, not only because they compliment her features much better than pastels, but also for the ease within which such colors hide the unsightly stain of blood. She'd ruined nearly five dresses last season to the dark, half coagulated blood of the undead – yet another reason for her vendetta against them.

Her mother, after giving approval of her daughter's appearance, rattles off her eternal list of instructions.

"Even if you must fight, do take care of your hair, darling." She drabbles on and on about looking divine even should the worst come to pass.

Jill knows these rules plenty, and as such, pays her mother no mind. Instead, she revels in the openness of the country-side at night. A dangerous place indeed, but a place of such wonder and mystery, even. Were the world not engulfed in the chaos of zombies, she'd surely spend every second of everyday outside.

The ride to the Somertons' is dull and uneventful. Her mother bristles with excitement before they emerge from the carriage. After one final adjustment of her daughter's sleeve in order to better conceal the knife at her shoulder blade, Mrs. Valentine becomes the premier socialite of the party.

"Come Jill, we mustn't dally." She says.

"As you wish." Jill chuckles, following after, adjusting her gloves as she goes.

The music is loud and it is far too hot inside the ballroom, but it's such lovely fun that Jill can't seem to mind. She catches the eye of her dear friend Kelsey and her husband Mr. Brad Vickers and they waste no time in approaching her.

"Jill! It is so good to see you." Kelsey wraps her arms around Jill's neck.

"It has been far too long." Jill gently laughs before acknowledging Kelsey's husband. "You wear marriage well, Mr. Vickers."

"Thank you, Miss Valentine." He says softly before Kelsey begins to run her mouth.

"Did you hear? There's-"

"A young, eligible, rich, handsome bachelor at tonight's festivities. Yes, your mother sent word to mine." Jill laughs.

"Did she also make mention of his proficiency as a fighter?" She asks slyly. "The man is unconquerable! He won the day at the Battle of Spencer Mansion and cut the horde of unmentionables in half that very night."

Jill would hate to say that piques her interest, so she merely folds her arms. "I hadn't heard."

"Oh yes, he's a valiant fighter. Perfect for our own, no doubt." Mr. Vickers teases.

"I'm not here to find a mate. I've come to dance." Jill claims.

"Perhaps you have not, but what of his intentions?" Kelsey laughs, "He's nearly twenty-five years of age and makes more than ten thousand pounds annually."

"Kelsey, my dear, go back to the bits about his fighting ability. _That_ had Miss Valentine blushing."

"Mr. Vickers, the only woman you should be making blush is your wife, should you not? And to do so in public? I am positively aghast." Jill retorts.

"There he is!"

Kelsey turns Jill's gaze towards a group of young men. It doesn't take long for her to determine whom her friend is speaking of, as the others all have faces and statures she recognizes from years of social events.

This man, however, has distinctly chiseled features and dark, thick hair that is well-styled and kept. His smile is pleasant to look at, though she'd be hard pressed to admit such a thing aloud, and his eyes hold such a depth of passion for his conversation that Jill has to wonder what they're speaking of.

"Handsome as they come, isn't he just?" Kelsey tugs on her arm.

"Darling, you're positively unsightly." Mr. Vickers laughs.

"You agreed to help me." Kelsey brushes off his comment.

"You two are worse than my mother." Jill finally looks away from Mr. Redfield.

"Your mother has done a valiant service to the male species thus far, she deserves some help." Kelsey chuckles.

"Well, you'll just have to try harder. Attractiveness is hardly a virtue that would turn my head." Jill huffs.

"But you do admit his handsomeness." Kelsey pries.

"Jill!" Ashley Bennet approaches the group with her own husband in tow. "I just spoke to my father, he says you killed an unmentionable at our estate just this morning."

"I did, and it is wonderful to see you." Jill and Ashley embrace one another as the two husbands begin a conversation.

"Have you been formally introduced to Mr. Redfield yet?" Ashley asks.

"No, but he has her breathless already." Kelsey says.

"Oh, you two." Jill rolls her eyes.

"If only Martha were here, she'd have shoved you into his arms by now." Ashley bumps Jill's shoulder playfully.

"And thank God she is laid up with child, in that case." Jill states firmly.

"Come now, what if-"

"Kelsey, no man, no matter how many there are, will ever simply waltz into town and change my mind." Jill asserts.

"You say so now." Kelsey smirks.

"I've already been introduced. He's a splendid man, amiable, passionate, and a fierce warrior." Ashely says.

"You got all that from an introduction?" Jill scoffs.

"My husband engaged him in a most interesting conversation about his new estate, which led to a fantastic story about his endeavors in the fight against unmentionables." Ashley sighs exasperated at Jill's stubbornness.

"How quaint, he's a storyteller." Jill folds her arms.

"Oh, I'm certain he'll weave a story for you, Jill. He is in want of a wife. While it is not his immediate concern, it did not escape his notice that there are many fine women here. I may or may not have informed him I had such a friend in mind."

"Ashley!" Jill gasps.

"I did not name you, I merely implied it." Ashley laughs.

"The utter impropriety." Jill frowns hard and crosses her arms over her chest once more in a cold stance.

"Come, ladies, let us join in the next dance."

Mr. Bennet takes Ashley's hand, Mr. Vickers has also approached his wife as former spoke.

Pleading eyes and all, Ashley turns to Jill.

"Will you be alright?"

"More than alright." Jill promises.

Her two friends take their husbands to the floor, leaving Jill to ponder her own next move. She decides to find a server with the wine and maneuvers through the crowd in search of drink.

It is only by mere coincidence that she passes by Mr. Redfield and his entourage. They're speaking of the Battle of Spencer Mansion, from what she can gather. She takes a glass of spirits as the subject changes, though her own presence goes unnoticed.

"So, Mr. Redfield, what do you think of our neck of the woods?" One of the men asks.

"I find it delightfully dull." He chuckles, "A lovely little spot of calm amongst the chaos of the horde."

"And plenty of beautiful women to look at, much more so than the sight of unmentionables." Another man comments with a laugh.

"Yes, simple country girls are quite the sight." Jill feels a snag of heat in her chest at the comment. Country girls are hardly simple. "London girls are no match for them, even your strumpets are tolerable and pleasing to look at."

"Have any here caught your eye?"

"Not just yet, gentlemen." He responds, looking out into the crowd as if to search for such a thing.

One of the men beside him jabs at his ribs with a laugh, "I don't know about you, but I tend to find that women are prey just as much as zombies. You must first examine the horde before choosing your target."

Mr. Redfield snickers with his entourage, "Indeed, sir?"

"Yes quite!" Another man interjects, "They've got such a way of milling about they could very well be mistaken for them."

"And if you aren't careful, they most assuredly will bite your head off!" The man mimes a most dramatic depiction of such a scenario.

Mr. Redfield, shaking his head with laughter gestures to the dance floor, "In such a case, I'm afraid I do not know who is eligible for my hunter's eye."

"So, you intend to find a bounty then?"

"I have every intention of ensnaring a fine prize this evening, yes." He laughs devilishly.

The men around him cackle with cruelty and Jill very nearly unsheathes her daggers. What an unsavory man. She returns to the dance floor to watch the fun her friends are indulging in. The only part of the festivities that is enjoyable in her eyes is, of course, dancing. It takes grace and finesse, just as the blade requires.

As the dance winds down, she glances back at Mr. Redfield and his company only to lock eyes with him. Something deep within her burns before she breaks from his gaze back to the dance floor. Even so, she feels the lingering of his eyes boring through her. Ashley and Kelsey seem to decide to partake in the next dance as well, leaving Jill alone for another song, or so it seems.

"Lady Valentine." Jill turns sharply at the voice, eyes locking with none other than Mr. Redfield standing beside Mr. Sullivan, a family friend and former student of her father's.

"Mr. Sullivan, how are you this evening?" Jill asks with a simple acknowledgement of his presence.

"I am well. It is lovely to see you out at such an event. I do not believe you have been partaking in many functions since the Vickers' wedding." He smiles at her and she forces her attention toward him.

"Yes, I've had much to preoccupy my time, but my mother does enjoy such affairs." He nods at her answer.

"Have you yet been introduced to Mr. Redfield?" He asks, gesturing to the gentleman.

"I have not." She says, allowing a coldness to settle in her eyes as she glances up in his direction again.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Valentine." He bows to her.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" She asks, turning her gaze back to the dance floor.

"I am. Everyone I've met thus far has been pleasurable in conversation and quite receptive of me." He says, turning in such a way that they stand shoulder-to-shoulder. He's about a head taller than her and she can feel him peering down at her, observing her as prey. She finds herself thoroughly disgusted.

"Tell me, Mr. Redfield, what is your opinion of dancing?" She asks conversationally, hardly noticing Mr. Sullivan's disappearance.

"It is a necessary skill for women, though I detest it myself." He chuckles.

"Quite unfortunate, I find that dancing is the first refinement of a man." She quips back.

"Well, perhaps you would indulge me and test my refinement, madam." He gives her a smile and holds out his hand.

She looks at his hand and sneers at him, "You change your tune so quickly."

"Or I merely wish to rise to the occasion."

"So, you would admit to being dishonest?"

"Not dishonest, Miss Valentine, just intrigued." He offers his hand again.

She accepts the offering merely to save him the embarrassment of rejection.

Taking his hand, she speaks, "You think me a spectacle, sir."

"I think you beautiful, unparalleled to any other in attendance."

"Careful with your abrasive compliments, Mr. Redfield, those are my friends you speak of."

"Abrasive, huh?" He chuckles as they line up for a dance.

"I find you abrasive, yes."

"I'm sure that you will warm up to me."

"Do not give yourself such credit, sir." She says as they bow to one another.

Their dancing begins in earnest, the music immediate and cheery despite the sour taste in Jill's mouth as Mr. Redfield pulls her in.

"Come now, madam, what have I done to offend you as such already?" He laughs with the words, clearly finding her an interesting target.

"I am no man's prey, nor do I think it is a compliment to be compared to an unmentionable. One might think a man of your station would agree."

He looks at her with a bit of surprise before they change partners. Their conversation remains at a halt until the middle of the dance, where they once again are close enough to speak.

"You overheard an indecent conversation, I do apologize. Though I find it fascinating that a lady of your standing would indulge in such an unbecoming practice as eavesdropping." He says it tauntingly, as if he wants to get a rise out of her.

"In your apology, you attempt another insult? My, what a brave man you are." She rolls her eyes as they once again part for a few measures of music.

When they return to one another, he's wearing a smirk.

"I beg your pardon. I had assumed you'd take it as a compliment that I find a peculiarity in your personality intriguing."

"Peculiarity? You certainly allow your mouth to run mindlessly." She scoffs.

"In what way?"

"A daughter of a warrior, and one in her own right, would hardly count eavesdropping as a quaint peculiarity. It is plenty normal for soldiers." She bites back a scowl as he twirls her around.

"Accomplished women shouldn't spend much time on arts meant for soldiers." He laughs.

"So, you mean to say women should restrict themselves to fine arts then?"

"Women should indulge in finer, more delicate arts, yes."

"Mr. Redfield, I assure you, there is no finer art than war."

The two of them bow to one another as the song ends and Jill very nearly storms off. She is only halted by the appearance of Ashley and Kelsey wearing grins as large as the moon.

"Oh, Jill, it is simply marvelous to see you dancing! You love it so dearly." Ashley says rather animatedly.

Her intention must be for Mr. Redfield to hear he's made a correct move. Her dear friend could not be farther off from the truth.

"Thank you, Ashley."

Jill feels the undeniable presence of Mr. Redfield behind her. All the same, she ignores him outright as her friends' husbands engage themselves in conversation with that abhorrent man.

"We saw him approaching you and did not want to intrude." Kelsey whispers, "He sought you out, did he not?"

Jill does not answer; instead, she leaves their presence with a grunt, embedding herself into the thick of the crowd, losing both her friends and her unwanted suitor. God help her, her mother must have surely seen Jill dancing with him. She may not ever be able to shut her up on the matter.

"Miss Valentine." His voice grates her nerves.

"Mr. Redfield?" Jill turns to face him with a gaze of steel.

"I do hope you are well with the way you walked off."

"I am well, sir, are you?"

"I am, yes." He chuckles, "My, you are something else entirely."

"Perhaps my own breed, as it were?"

He laughs boldly with a hand on his chest. Just beyond him, Jill spots one of the older ladies' groups. Within said group, Mrs. Donivan she believes, is close enough that Jill can see a welt peeking out from the collar of her dress.

"You certainly don't put gentle in the term gentlewoman, Miss Valentine."

"I suppose you think that an insult, Mr. Redfield."

"Most sane women would, but I do not believe I am in the presence of one." He smiles that handsome smile and Jill swallows it thickly.

Yes, that is no welt, it is surely a bite, and just as she recognizes this truth, the woman in question turns around. She seems to observe Mr. Redfield, the glint in her eye reads of hunger, a gaze far too familiar to Jill.

"You mock me so openly, sir, have you no shame?" She reaches up to her shoulder as discreetly as possible.

"Not mocking, an acknowledgement."

"Then acknowledge me now. Duck." She says it so firmly he does so without question.

His action allows her to swiftly unsheathe her dagger, send it flying through the air, and plant it between the eyes of the infected. Without a second to lose, she uses Mr. Redfield's hunched figure to flip herself over to the beast and kicks the rest of the blade firmly into its head.

The creature lets out a distinct gurgling cry, decrepit and anguished, as Jill steps on its neck and kicks its skull. The zombie's head pops off like a loosened lid and the infected lays still. There are screams in the hall as Jill reclaims her blade. The frantic crowd runs desperately to the exits, hoping to escape should there be yet more infected.

Jill leans down to move the shoulder of deceased's dress, revealing a clearly irritated bite oozing with pus. Even with a trained eye, Jill feels the need to check. She's yet to kill an uninfected person, but she has heard that such terrible things have come to pass. Wiping the infected blood on Mrs. Donivan's dress, Jill re-sheathes her dagger and signs the cross over her body.

"Miss Valentine…" Mr. Redfield stands upright and takes a few tentative steps towards the corpse to observe her handiwork.

"It would do you well to remember that in the battle against unmentionables, we are on the same side, sir. Do not make enemies who have the capacity to think." She practically spits at him.

In his shock, he turns to look at her, "Miss-"

"If you would excuse me, I must check on my mother." She turns swiftly and exits the scene. hurrying into the gardens, all the while she remains fuming at the arrogance of one Mr. Redfield.

"Oh, Jill!" Her mother calls out to her and they rush to hold one other. "You did excellent, darling. You're not hurt, I take it?"

"No, mother, I am well." Jill responds even as her mother checks her once over.

"Of course you are." He mother nods, replacing the only curl to have fallen loose on Jill's head. "I saw you dancing with- Mr. Redfield!"

With an exasperated sigh, Jill turns towards the man who so unabashedly followed after her. "Sir?"

"I wanted to ensure you found your mother. Are you well, Mrs. Valentine?"

"I am, thank you. Isn't that quite kind of him, Jill?"

"It is tolerable, I suppose." She glares at him and he returns it with a smile.

"Allow me to see you off." Mr. Redfield says, "It is dangerous to go alone amongst such chaos."

"That is a lovely sentiment, sir." Mrs. Valentine says.

"But one which is unnecessary. Goodnight, Mr. Redfield." Jill does not wait for her mother to speak. She merely storms off in the direction of the carriages in the hopes that only one of the two will follow.

She runs into Kelsey and Ashley, who immediately ask after Mr. Redfield.

"He is a callous, egregious man whom I will not give a second more of my time, let alone a thought in my mind. I hope he makes his exit from this place as swiftly as was his entrance." She speaks harshly before continuing her path.

She locates the family carriage and waits for her mother to follow suit after her. When her mother does approach with Mr. Redfield close by, Jill feigns sleep in the hopes of avoiding one more confrontation.

"Oh, I see my daughter has already made it, thank God above."

"She is quite capable, but it is indeed a blessing she was not hurt." Jill bites back a snarl upon hearing his voice.

"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Redfield. Feel free to call on us anytime."

"I may have to take you up on that offer in the near future, Mrs. Valentine. I thank you."

"Have a good night, sir."

"You as well and give your daughter such tidings from me." He bows to her before returning to the crowd.

Mrs. Valentine climbs into the carriage and grins at her daughter, not fooled in the least by her false slumber.

"I don't think you're running this one off, Jill. He's quite taken with you."

"He's an absolutely wretched man." Jill grumbles, "He sees women as sport."

"Women like you are." Her mother retorts, "I'll not have you being rude to him. I raised you better than that."

"Then I think I should certainly like to see who raised him, for he is an abominable creature." She folds her arms.

"As would I, if only to see what marriage arrangements we can come up with." Mrs. Valentine laughs, nudging her daughter. Jill, however, is left unamused.

The whole ride home, Mrs. Valentine plans Mr. Redfield's courtship of her, while Jill can only think of how she can possibly get rid of that man.


	3. Tested for Greatness

It is Jill's intention to make Mr. Redfield regret not only the words he uttered at the ball two night ago, but to regret ever introducing himself to her. Her resolve is positively boiling with ideas on how to best insult and degrade that man, which is to say that she is infuriated by how much of her mind he occupies. She takes to reading in the front garden on days like this when her mind simply cannot be bothered to obey her.

Only this day, her brain does not merely refuse to focus on her own thoughts, but the book before her as well cannot reign in the beast of her mind. Frustrated, she slams the text closed and turns her gaze to the gray sky above her. Oh, how God mocks her so, sending the only man in England who could possibly rile her up and then to have him fancy her. The gall of God is impeccable.

Just as she turns her head back to earth, she spots a familiar face approaching the gate. This one she does not mind nearly so much.

"Lieutenant Dewey? Is that you?" She calls from where she's sitting.

"Well, if it isn't Jill Valentine, the only woman in the country who would sit outside reading on a day like today. Waiting to get in the first slaughter of the newly risen horde, no doubt." He laughs as he dismounts his horse.

"You're no better, Edward, riding around when the rain is imminent." She laughs with him, opening the gate for his entrance.

"What a pair we make, Miss Valentine. As I recall, your father thought similarly when I was his student once upon a time." He jests.

"Of course, he always paired us together so that I could beat you in sparring."

"I won against you exactly three times. The three proudest days of my life."

"Do ensure your wife never catches wind of such a thing, sir."

"I assure you, she will not."

She laughs, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Lieutenant? And unannounced as well?"

His face becomes solemn, "I must speak with your father, urgently."

"My father? But…" Jill tries to study his face but sees nothing beyond the desperation. "My father is unwell."

"Unwell? Don't tell me he's-"

"Absolutely not! The doctors believe it is merely his age finally catching up to him."

"Thank God for that." He breathes a sigh of relief as they enter the home.

"Tell my father that Lieutenant Dewey must speak with him urgently." Jill tells the maid who greets them, turning back to the Lieutenant as they are left alone. "Should I take this to mean the war is not as promising as we once believed?"

"This has little to do with the war." He seems reluctant to speak on it.

"I cannot tell if I am relieved or more concerned at that." She sighs.

"How ill is your father?" He asks nervously.

"He has not left our home for more than three weeks now. Though, God be praised, he is no longer bed-ridden."

Dewey lets out a strained sigh, "I am… sorry for his ill health, Miss Valentine."

"As am I, but we all grow old. At the least... those of us who do not turn."

"You have a brutal outlook." He chuckles.

"I was born into a brutal world." Jill retorts as the servant returns from the corridor she'd disappeared down.

"He'll receive you in the study, sir." She says with a curtsy.

"Thank you." He nods, hesitating before turning back to Jill. "I'm afraid this means I must call on you as well, Miss Valentine. I do apologize for this."

"Lieutenant, what on earth could have you so troubled?" Jill wonders aloud.

"Would you fetch Mrs. Valentine and instruct her to meet with us in the study?" He asks the servant.

"Right away, sir."

"Edward?"

"Come, Miss, it will be for the best if we get this done quickly." He says, offering her his arm.

"You really know how to make such idle things as conversation seem ominous." She comments.

He makes no response as he greets her father, worry filling his face as he observes the way his old master limps.

"Edward, I'm so glad to see you." Mrs. Valentine strides into the room.

Graceful and poised, she greets the young officer before sitting beside her daughter.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your business?" Mr. Valentine asks.

Not an ounce of the humor his wife and daughter are so accustomed to mark his tone. Rather, he is rigid, very much the soldier and tutor he spent so long existing in this life as.

"I am afraid it is both good and bad news, sir," The soldier sighs, "I have just come from London, wherein the royal physicians and the guard have joined forces in pursuit of a vaccine against _Las Plagas_."

"I see." Mr. Valentine nods for him to continue.

"The horde draws ever closer to the city, and I have been instructed to seek out your council."

"If it's mine to give, it's yours to have."

"That is the problem, sir. Your presence has been requested in the capital."

"Oh, but he couldn't possibly do such a thing. His health is-"

"Sarah, please." He holds up his hand to his wife, "What would they ask of me to do?"

Lieutenant Dewey swallows harshly, "They need your knowledge of the zombification process and the unmentionables themselves. There is little else they can try without your guidance."

Mr. Valentine nods at his words, but it is Jill who speaks on his behalf.

"Why would they need such knowledge? Surely fighting has little to do with the medicinal elements of a cure."

"They do not speak of a cure. One cannot return a soul to its body once said soul has gone into the beyond. Rather, they seek a preventative measure, in the hopes that perhaps this germ theory nonsense may be true."

"Our survival banking on a theory." Mrs. Valentine sighs. "God help us."

"He's not there I'm afraid." Jill can't stop herself.

"I am very sorry for your failing health, Mr. Valentine, but you must understand how vital it is that you come to London."

Mr. Valentine nods, "You need my manuscript."

"Another one, dear?" Mrs. Valentine asks.

"He's been working on this one for years, Mother." Jill puts a hand over her mother's.

Her father has stood from the couch and is pulling said manuscript from its drawer.

"And Jill has helped me pen it." He says matter-of-factly as he presents the documents the Lieutenant Dewey.

"Thank you, sir, but I'm afraid this may not be enough." Dewey says heavily.

"I know, which is why you'll be taking Jill with you." Mr. Valentine says humorlessly.

"What?" Mrs. Valentine inquires.

"Our daughter has just as much, if not more, practical knowledge on those zombies than I."

"Oh, that word." Mrs. Valentine mutters.

The tainted word that high society avoids even when the beasts do not avoid high society.

"She's read every book on the subject, hunted with every notable master in Europe, if not the world, and continues her training with myself. There is no one better for this task." Mr. Valentine nods resolutely despite Jill's shocked expression.

"But sir, it is your experience they seek." Dewey stutters at the suggestion.

"She will be a much more valuable asset to you than I. Were you going into combat, I would not suggest the notion, but my daughter is well studied on those creatures."

"I could not in good conscience bring a young lady to the city unattended, let alone into such a difficult task." Edward says, ignoring the glare Jill sends his way outright.

"Lieutenant, you have little choice. It is either her or nothing." Mr. Valentine sighs.

"She can stay with my cousin's son." Mrs. Valentine says, "Ethan is a good boy and his wife will certainly attach herself to you, Jill."

"Mother..." Jill can hardly believe that her mother – the woman who has always insisted that marriage is the only route for her daughter – would even entertain such an idea.

Mrs. Valentine grasps Jill's chin, "We all have a role to play in this life, Jill. If yours is to put so much as a dent in this infernal curse, then I will help you at any chance I am able."

Jill can hardly believe any of this is reality as she looks from her mother to her father. "If you will have me, Lieutenant, I will go."

He bites his lip in thought, "I will write my commander at once. I suggest you write to your contact in London, Mrs. Valentine. This is a most urgent matter. As soon as I am granted permission, we will depart."

He bows to the Valentines before taking his leave. Jill can hardly believe her good fortune. A chance to go to London, to help combat the undead, and an excuse to cease any relationship with Mr. Redfield. A most fortuitous opportunity.

"Mother-"

"I will write to the Winters' at once. It will take less than a week for all to be said and done, Jill… so it would be best that you prepare to depart." Her mother looks saddened but hurries off to write her letter immediately.

"Papa?"

"Jill, you must do this."

"You think I can?"

"I know you can." He says, "You must, or mankind may not get a second chance."

"You believe our situation to be so dire?"

"It always was, but if they need me…" He shakes his head, "I am an old man, Jill, hopefully I live long enough to see you fix this blasted world."

"Papa…" To have such trust instilled in her shakes her to the core.

"You are practically an expert on the undead, not just in theory, combat, or history. I daresay you may be the only one in this world who does not fear them and, God almighty, do we need that kind of spirit."

"Will you and mother-"

"We will manage, we always have."

Jill nods, leaping forward to hug her father tightly, "I will do as you ask and bring you much pride."

"I know you will." He agrees.

Jill hurries off to her own chambers to pack her things, mind running faster than her body is able to keep up with.

The war against the horde has been going on for nearly a generation, when it became abundantly clear that the infected could not, and did not want, to be nursed back to health. It has been a fierce and bloody struggle that always ends in a slaughter, one way or another. In recent years, rumor has it that the creatures have begun to organize, but how could that be possible when the unmentionables lose both their minds and their humanity?

Jill prays for the first time in a long time, strings of Hail Marys and begging for guidance before she is to embark on such an endeavor. She feels fear inside of her for the first time in years, it is both refreshing and daunting all the same. One does not merely forget the feeling of fear, no matter how long she remains hidden away in the depths of the mind.

It never does rain that day, as if God himself has given her his divine blessing. A sure sign that she must depart from her home in search of a cure, or as it were, a vaccine.

Eight days pass before they receive word from London. Fortunately, it is both confirmation from the General to bring Jill to the capital and from the Winters' expressing their joy at hosting her. The Valentines can hardly believe this turn of events, but they ready their daughter for the journey. Equipping her with extra bullets, a spare whetstone, and a sewing kit should her traveling dress wear down on the journey.

Hard as it is to believe it, Jill is on her way to London in the hopes of finally ending this war. If anyone can do it, she resolves, it ought to be herself.


	4. And So, It Begins

The trip to London goes off without a hitch. No undead or even a branch in the road deters her from her destination. It is very nearly boring and Jill spends far too much energy trying to keep herself distracted from the nerves that have cultivated in her chest. Never before has she been to London, beyond to catch a ship, nor has she ever journeyed by herself. Combined together, she feels quite unsettled.

These emotions, however, seem to dissipate entirely as she enters the capital; without the clouds of other destinations to blind her to the city, she is able to absorb such wonderful things. Large, beautiful buildings and the excitement of the streets which entices her beyond measure. Men and women walking briskly down the streets and not a one of them seems to fear that there may be undead around the corner. What a taste of freedom that must be.

The Winters' home is just as grand as the others in their neighborhood – tall, clean, and well-fortified. The couple stands on the steps of their entryway, waiting for Jill's coach to come to a halt. They are a handsome couple, Mia with lovely, dark curls and Ethan with a proud, civilized posture. Jill already feels at home with them and she has merely stepped one foot out of the coach.

"Miss Jill Valentine, it is a pleasure to meet you in person." Mia approaches with a beautiful smile, "Your mother speaks well of you and often."

"You have met my mother?" Jill asks softly.

"Oh yes, she attended our wedding some two years ago now." Ethan responds.

"Three come September." Mia reminds him dutifully, with a hand on his arm and a graceful chuckle.

"It is unfortunate I missed such a happy occasion." Jill wonders when her mother attended a wedding alone.

"I believe you were on a hunt with your father and some other distinguished fighters at the time. In Africa, I believe your mother mentioned." Mia says as Ethan directs the servants on which room to put up her things.

"I do recall such a venture, now that you speak of it." Jill chuckles.

"Only two trunks, Miss? You certainly travel light for such an endeavor." Mr. Ethan comments.

"I know my worth, Mr. Winters. I have every intention of returning home before the first frost with a cure surely in hand."

"My! Such assurance, Miss Valentine, I do hope your sentiments will come to fruition." Mia comments.

"Please, call me Jill."

"Only if you will call me Mia. We are family." The way she speaks her last sentiment catches Jill's attention.

Suddenly, the young lady spots hints of sadness hung up in the back of Mia's gaze. A curious discovery, one which Jill does not mention.

"That we are."

"Come inside, please. The cooks have prepared a meal for your arrival, as you must be famished." Ethan gestures for the two women to follow him inside.

"Thank you for your generosity." Jill nods to him. The home is just as pleasing inside as was the exterior with high ceilings, a parlor and a weapons room right in the entry way. Surely a fine place to be proud of.

The young couple expresses their excitement to host family in the city and ensure that she will not be stifled by them, their only stipulation being that they are aware of her location.

"Your work will certainly be demanding. You need not worry yourself in regards to keeping us informed of your every move. So long as we know your whereabouts and the company you keep, that will suffice." Ethan tells her.

"Yes, and please don't hesitate to socialize. A lady of your standing should enjoy the finer things London has to offer. In fact, we've a box at the royal opera house and would love it if you joined us every now and again." Mia offers.

"If it does not interfere with your work, of course." Ethan chuckles at his wife's boundless energy.

"It is quite gracious of you to offer. I will not forget such kindness." Jill assures them.

"If I may be so bold, how do you know Edward?" Ethan asks.

"He was one of my father's pupils some years ago. I have retained a friendship with him over the years."

"Interesting. We are well acquainted with the military personal, as it were. Many of the officers are indeed friends of ours."

"Yes, in fact, we have been invited to supper this evening at the General's home. He, and most assuredly some of the other soldiers we expect you to be working with, will be in attendance. A safer place for you to be introduced than those garish laboratories." Mia says.

"That is a lovely sentiment, but I am afraid there is such little safety in this pursuit or any that involve unmentionables." At the term, one of the maids stumbles and drops an empty platter.

"My apologies, madam." The maid mutters quickly before rushing out of the room.

"Pay her no mind." Ethan waves off the incident. "That is my wife's lady's maid."

"Yes, Zoe Baker. Poor dear lost her whole family to those foul things. I'm afraid she is still a bit sensitive." Mia has drawn in a tight breath at the mention. Her mood entirely shifted, as if the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon.

"We happened upon her sometime after our honeymoon. We managed to burn the infested home to the ground. As a consolation, we took her in. She does good work, but do try to keep talk of such things at a minimum around her delicate ears." Ethan warns.

"But of course, I did not mean to offend." Jill nods.

"Not all of us can stare down the horde and feel no fear." He laughs.

"I see my reputation proceeds me." Jill turns her full attention to him.

"Indeed, the only women in England – nay, the world – who does not flinch at the idea of a fight." As he speaks on the subject, Mia discreetly excuses herself from the table.

"I find the sword to be a constant companion, one that does not betray its wielder should their hand be steady. It is impossible to find such a companion in human company." Jill comments.

"An interesting sentiment. I imagine that it is this mindset that has left you so long without a suitor? I mean you no offense, madam, I am merely curious." Ethan speaks coolly.

With a stiffened smile, she responds, "My mother certainly has spoken to you, sir. I find the company of male society to lack all manner of things, the most of which is their capacity to understand that femininity does not equate incompetence."

He nods with a smile, "You and Mia will get on just fine."

"I should hope so."

"Some of the officers will be in attendance with their wives. I hope you will make fast friends of the female variety."

Jill laughs, "I do believe we are in agreement on that front. It would be imprudent to ignore such happy things as friendships in the face of terror."

"Terror, Miss? You make our situation against the undead seem cataclysmic. There is no such urgency, so long as we have warriors with spirits half as bold as your own."

"As far as I am aware, spirits like mine are in short supply." She quips.

He relents, standing from the table, "Shall I escort you to your room? I imagine you'd like to wash up before tonight."

"I would; however, I believe that I can make such a journey by myself." She nods to him before departing up the stairs and to the room she'd been previously directed to.

What she discovers is practically obscene and Jill finds herself nearly speechless.

"What in the name of God do you think you're doing?" Jill demands of the woman rummaging through her trunk.

"Madam!" It is the very same maid from earlier, Zoe Baker, wide eyed and stuttering. "Forgive me, I was attempting to unpack your things."

"Without my consent." Jill takes a step forward.

The already cowering girl merely bows her head lower, "Please accept my apology for my most egregious lapse in judgment. It will never happen again, I promise you."

Jill walks to the trunk in question and plucks out her father's manuscript. After observing that it is in tact, she draws her dagger.

"Miss!" Zoe gasps.

"I do not know your intentions, but should this go missing, I'll have your head." Jill snarls.

"Yes ma'am." Zoe swallows thickly.

"Leave me." Jill sheathes the weapon as the young girl hurries from the room.

Methodically, she hides the work before washing up and dressing for the evening. It was her mother who insisted she bring _all_ of her fine dresses, "a woman never knows when she must look impeccable" or so she had said. In cases such as these, Jill reminds herself that her mother is just as wise as her father, if only in different manifestations.

The Winters' carriage is just as fine as their home and the ride is splendidly calm as they arrive at the General's home. Just inside is a lovely assortment of officers milling about, drinks in hand and pleasant music falling on the shoulders of attendees.

"Mr. and Mrs. Winters." An older gentleman with a woman on his arm approaches, "It is good to see you, and I am glad that your visitor has arrived in good health."

"Indeed." Ethan and his wife greet the couple. "Miss Valentine, Colonel Barry Burton, nearly ten years of accomplished service to the crown against the horde. And his lovely wife, of course."

"Don't let such a compliment go to your head." Colonel Burton's wife laughs.

"Never." He chuckles, "Lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss. Valentine. Myself and a few others will be working with you."

"An honor to meet you, Colonel." Jill bows her head.

"Come, allow me introduce you to the others." The Colonel gestures to a congregated group by the windows.

She looks to her hosts – who nod their approval – before following the couple's lead. The group previously mentioned notices the trio approaching, and as such, welcomes them warmly.

"Might I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Jill Valentine." The Colonel presents her as he rattles off names, "You are already acquainted with Lieutenant Edward Dewey and his wife, Margaret. This is Captain Richard Aiken and his bride Bridgette. Captain Leon Kennedy. Major William Coen and his fiancée, Miss Rebecca Chambers."

Before he can introduce the last young woman, she speaks up, "Did I hear correctly? You are Miss Valentine, not Mrs.?"

"You heard rightly." Jill says, observing the girl.

She is quite young with bright red hair and an even brighter smile as Jill confirms her suspicions.

"Then you are unwed." She seems rather excited at that.

"Don't mind the young miss. She is merely relieved to have met an eligible lady now that Miss Chambers is spoken for." The Colonel laughs affectionately.

"It is much more interesting to attend balls with other eligible ladies. Makes for such fun setting men to work to gain our affections." The young lady laughs, "Where are my manners? I am Claire, Miss Valentine. Do call me just that, as I imagine we will soon be the greatest of friends."

"Spoken modestly as ever, Miss." Captain Leon Kennedy chuckles behind his glass.

"I am not an idle flatterer. I mean my compliments earnestly." Claire assures Jill after passing a surely wicked glance to the Captain.

"Then, by all means, call me Jill."

"How are you enjoying the city thus far?" Miss Chambers asks, moving aside her fiancé to join the ladies.

"I find it agreeable. My hosts are gracious and I've never had the opportunity to spend much time in the capital."

"From my understanding, you are quite well traveled and accomplished for your age." Miss Chambers comments.

"Might I inquire as to where you have gained such an understanding?"

"You've quite the reputation, Miss Valentine. Many know of you. I fear only a sparse few know you personally. A true travesty considering all the tales you're wrapped up in." She says.

Jill thinks it should be an insult, but the passionate intensity of her words is striking. Miss Chambers' words and wit are sharp, Jill revels at the idea of matching her mettle in conversation.

"While I've many lady friends back home, it would be an honor to have you join their ranks. I daresay I, too, should like to learn more about you, Miss Chambers. And please, call me Jill." She returns.

"Rebecca, will do just fine then, Jill." She smiles a bemused grin.

"Very well."

Jill catches the eye of a pale-looking couple speaking with her hosts. The man and woman look pinched and uncomfortable, the sight of them sends an alert of caution throughout her body. They look away quickly from the young lady, but Jill continues her observations.

"I see you've spotted a pair snakes." Rebecca chuckles, "That is Dr. and Mrs. Birkin, they work with us-"

"Us?" Jill asks.

"Oh, forgive me for my impertinence. Yes, I work with the medical team in our search for a cure."

"I thought women were not afforded such opportunities." Jill retains her composure despite her shock.

"My Rebecca is one of the most intelligent, sharp minds of this generation." Major Coen interrupts their conversations.

Rebecca swats at him, "I manage the books with Mrs. Birkin. We are hardly vital to the operation."

"You sell yourself short. Without you, the whole venture would fall apart." Claire assures her.

"In any case, we are not nearly in so privileged a position as you." Rebecca says.

"Do not make statements that could very well be false once the work has started in earnest." Jill chuckles.

"Keep your guard up around Dr. Birkin, Jill, he's a cruel man. I daresay he is one wrong observation away from a monumental meltdown that would send him to the madhouse."

Jill can't help but laugh at Rebecca's statement.

"No more than the General. If anyone is mad in this whole nonsense, it's him." Claire folds her arms. "He is an obscenely wicked man, as deadly with his words as he is a blade."

"Are there any others I should be warned of?" Jill asks.

"Certainly not." Rebecca assures her.

"Indeed." Claire takes Jill's hand. "We would not lead you astray. Rebecca works within the laboratory and I am currently well engaged with such matters of the military. I am lodging with the Colonel and his wife at the insistence of my brother."

"Oh, may God help us if you do go off about your brother, Claire. Spare Jill from such a fate." Rebecca jests enthusiastically.

Claire nudges her friend, "I'll spare her the details for now. What I was attempting to say is that I would very much like it if you joined us for tea tomorrow. The ladies do not arrive at the laboratories until past noon and it may do you well to go with Rebecca."

"That would be lovely, thank you for the invitation."

"Tread lightly, Jill, this is how she ensnares friends." Rebecca teases, "First tea and then, before you know any better, she's dragging you to every ball, theatre, and dinner she can."

"Civilities of the city are meant to be enjoyed, Rebecca." Claire laughs. "I spend so much time in the countryside that I must relish the city while I am present in it."

"A sentiment I do not protest to." Jill assures her. "I believe we may be in waiting to embark on the only type of adventure I've yet to encounter: that of city pleasures."

Claire practically shakes with excitement, "I told you we'd be fast friends."

Rebecca gasps, "Hush, the General is coming this way."

Jill turns to lock eyes with a stern older gentleman, dignified and unwavering in his steps. He greets his officers before turning to her.

"You must be Robert Valentine's girl." He rakes his gaze up her body and she cannot discern his decided approval.

"I am, sir."

"I am General Wesker, you answer to me." He says rigidly, "I will not tolerate a trite little girl mucking about my soldiers and causing inane distraction."

Nearly taken aback, but not willing to give him the pleasure, Jill grows a fraction of an inch taller. "I do not believe it will be my doing if your soldiers cannot handle the very presence of a woman."

"We shall not find out, Miss Valentine, if you do as you are told." She does not answer him as he walks away, clearly somehow bothered by her very existence.

"I've had quite the ill fortune when it comes to meetings recently." She comments, turning back to the ladies.

"Have you?"

"Oh yes, I met the most infuriating man just before my departure. Thank God, I shall not have dealings with him for some time." Jill folds her arms, truly in disbelief that so many rude men exist in the world.

"I can see why you have yet to find a husband. It is not for lack of beauty, wit, or confidence. Merely your judgement is far too refined for the opposite sex to keep up." Rebecca laughs.

"Indeed." Jill laughs.

"Shall we head to the dining room, ladies?" Captain Kennedy interrupts their conversation with an easy smile and an open hand.

Claire wastes no time in taking it and allows him to lead her in first.

"She is still quite young, that Claire, but God save the poor Captain." Rebecca shakes her head, a grin pleasantly resting on her face.

"Am I to take it she fancies him?" Jill asks.

"Quite terribly. The man she was promised to, a young Steven Burnside, was turned before her thirteenth birthday."

"Oh dear."

"She was distraught for a number of years. Captain Kennedy is the first man who has truly enticed her beyond her immediate want for affection." Rebecca indulges Jill's unspoken curiosity.

"Such a sad story."

"With a happy ending, of course. Her brother went to great lengths to ensure the girl wants for nothing. And the Captain has done nothing to dissuade her feelings. I take that to mean her interest could be reciprocated." Jill nods to her new friend before they are approached by her intended.

"Ladies, the roast will wait for no one." Billy smiles.

"Yes, yes, as you say." Rebecca laughs while taking his arm, "Come, Jill. It is time we test your most valuable skills yet – table manners."

"Indeed." Jill has a funny feeling inside of her, a suspicion one could say, that these new friends of hers will be invaluable allies.


	5. Venture with Caution

The rolling clouds that are so typical of London have made their way over the city during the night. Jill's instincts tell her to be ready for infected, but Mia informs her such is not the case within the city.

"It's a great fortune that the city is so well guarded and, of course, all of the dead have been exhumed for so long it is no such problem for us." She reassures upon hearing Jill's concerns.

"You must think me very common to have such worries." Jill shakes her head at herself.

"Not at all! It's quite astounding to me that you retain such knowledge of the horde. I, for one, left all of mine at the altar." She is forcing the joke, but Jill does not laugh. "You are going to the Colonel's for tea this afternoon, yes?"

"I intend to, yes," Jill pauses to adjust her dress, "I should prepare to leave."

"Ethan will be escorting you, he's business to attend to and the Colonel's home is on his way."

"What is his line of work?" Jill inquires conversationally, reaching for her walking shawl.

"Oh, he works in finance, dear. He has many favorable clients within the city. Unfortunately, his work keeps him quite busy." Mia's expression is such an amalgamation of emotions that Jill cannot read it.

"I can imagine." Jill nods.

The man of whom they speak enters the parlor before the conversation can progress much further.

"Jill, are you ready to depart?"

"I am." Jill nods, picking up her journal and her father's manuscript to take with her.

"Have a lovely time." Mia adjusts her husband's collar. "Come home soon, love."

"I will do my best." He promises before holding his arm out to Jill.

"Thank you, sir." Jill gives one last look to Mia before they begin their journey.

Ethan talks about notable landmarks to assist her way home. She'll likely be escorted as is proper, but should the need arise, he intends for her to be self-sufficient. Not that he has any doubts.

He takes her up the stairs of a well-fortified home with spikes on every windowsill and an iron-clad door.

The Colonel's wife answers the door with a smile and a bow.

"Miss Valentine, we are so glad you could attend."

"I am pleased to have been invited." Jill smiles, stepping inside.

"Mr. Winters, will you be joining us as well?" Mrs. Burton asks with a chuckle.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Burton. Unfortunately, I've meetings to attend to this afternoon. You ladies have fun in my stead." He gives one last courteous nod before stepping off the porch.

"Is that Jill?" Claire emerges from a doorway and smiles brightly at her, "Oh! I'm so glad you're here."

"I am glad to be here." Jill assures her, noticing two small children following after Claire.

"My daughters, Moira and Polly." Mrs. Burton presents the girls who are unable to care beyond the initial surprise of a new face.

"They take after you." Jill notes, seeing their faces for only a moment before they rush up the stairs, presumably to play.

"Thank you." She laughs as she gathers her skirts to follow after the children, "I will go ensure that they are immersed in their studies. Should you require anything, please don't hesitate to ask. Claire, take Miss Valentine to the sun room, if you would."

"Absolutely." Claire holds out a hand to guide Jill into the lovely little space. Rebecca is already indulging in tea, but promptly puts down her saucer at the sight of Jill.

"I hope you rested well, Jill." Rebecca stands to greet her.

"I am, thank you."

"How are you adjusting to the city? I know when I first arrived, I was quite overwhelmed." Claire asks as they take up their seats.

"Thus far, I find it most agreeable, though I must say it was strange to wake up knowing my parents were not close by." She admits, still smiling graciously as she prepares her own tea.

"A sentiment I understand whole-heartedly." Claire places a hand on her chest. "I lost my parents some seven years ago now and I miss them even more terribly with each passing day."

Jill offers a sympathetic smile. "I can hardly imagine such loss as you, Claire, and at so young an age."

"God works in his own ways, I suppose, for I was fortunate enough to still have my brother. He has played such a vital role in my life, I could never express such admiration."

"You are quite close then." Jill states more for herself than for her company.

"Indeed, I tell him nearly everything, though I can tell he has little interest in such things. It is truly a sight to see when I insist he come dress shopping with me, though he does not protest."

"Get on with it, Claire! Tell her what a fine husband he will make." Rebecca laughs.

"I assure you that is not my intention! How dare you assume such a thing?" Claire laughs even as her nose turns pink with blush, "Still, it is true. My brother will make an excellent husband for some lucky lady."

"Certainly." Jill sips her tea innocently.

"Do you think that you shall marry someday soon, Jill?" Claire asks.

"Absolutely not, I haven't the stomach nor the time for such an endeavor." Jill assures her.

Rebecca nearly spits out her tea with a laugh, "You seem to believe that navigating a courtship is much like a battle."

"Very much the opposite; in fact, a battle I can face with practiced ease. Men are not so simple a task to conquer."

"Surely, you of all women could manage such a feat as a courtship." Rebecca insists.

"I'll not know. Men are the last thing occupying my thoughts." Jill chuckles.

"Impossible!" Claire proclaims, "A woman such as yourself must attract flocks of men."

"Of the living and undead variety no doubt." Rebecca jests.

"It is true, I attract many. However, I've not yet accepted the advances of a man and I've no intention of ever doing so."

"I believe you mentioned a man having accosted you recently. There must be a story worth telling for you to have held onto the memory." Rebecca pries with grace and dignity.

"I met the most wretched man who felt it appropriate to compare ladies to unmentionables. Then he had the audacity to insult my integrity as a woman. Before, of course, laughing at his own inane jokes." She shudders at the mention.

"I can hardly imagine you took such words from anybody." Rebecca says, shocked where she sits.

"I did not. I refuted his advances and I did not even allow an unmentionable to make him a victim."

Claire snorts at the image. "You did not tell us that you are a saint, Jill."

Jill laughs with her. "Hardly. His infection would have had the potential to spread to those I care about. It was a tactical move, nothing more."

"Tactics, yes, that is what men find so lovely about a woman." Rebecca chuckles.

"Well, Billy seemed quite enthralled by it, madam." Claire winks at her friend.

"He's still unaware of such a thing and I doubt he shall ever come to."

"Yes, you've caught him under your spell, you temptress, with your ungodly science and your insistence that scones need only butter."

"Only if they're good scones." Rebecca rolls her eyes.

Claire returns her attention to Jill.

"We've made arrangements to train at my family's private training grounds tomorrow morning. We would be honored if you were to come with us. I imagine it will be great fun to test one another's skills and perhaps you can teach us something new."

"I would love to." Jill agrees.

"Especially because I am about to hang up my sparring swords for good and Claire is in want of a new partner." Rebecca laughs.

"You are promised to a military man, Rebecca. Do you not think that combat skills will be necessary for such a profession?" Jill asks.

"I would not think of doing such a thing. It is improper for a married woman to exhibit such skills. Especially an officer's wife! Can you imagine such a humiliating scene? A husband who cannot fend off the horde so that his wife must assist? No, I would never agree to give my hand to a man who could not protect me." Rebecca assures her.

"I could not imagine setting down my swords. It would be setting down my right hand." Jill says. "Has your fiancé asked you to do so?"

"Good lord, no!" She laughs, "He has sense in his head. I am still deadly after all."

"But you would give it up with such ease."

"For him, yes. I would give up nearly anything for him."

"Spare me this conversation." Claire begs. "Forgive me, Jill, but I've heard Rebecca speak so frequently of the man's virtue that I can stand it no longer."

"So, you do understand my feelings on your constant droning about your brother." Rebecca laughs.

"I never said I didn't, my dear friend." Claire teases.

"I shall endure it twice fold once you accept Captain Kennedy's advances and allow him to court you." Rebecca receives a hard shove from Claire.

"Only once he has spoken to my brother will I even entertain the notion."

"I daresay you spend so much of your time speaking of the men in your lives...have you time for much else?" Jill laughs.

"Oh, ample time. Do you read much in the line of fiction?" Claire asks, prompting an enthusiastic conversation about authors and favorite works. Jill enjoys the rest of their time together and – were she not so anxious to begin her work – she would be sad to end it.

Still, she and Rebecca take their leave and walk purposefully towards Tower Hill.

"You must be careful, Jill, the laboratory is a most unsavory mix of intensity and desperation." Rebecca says as they approach the gates, voice hushed as if their very presence must be kept secret.

"I will keep my wits about me." Jill swears as they enter the compound. There are soldiers training in the foreground, but many others bustle about, undeterred by the military exercise.

"This way." Rebecca guides her through the maze of halls until they happen upon an absolutely chaotic chamber. "Welcome to the umbrella, Jill."

"The what?" She asks, taken aback by the scene.

"That's the affectionate term for our little lab," she says it bitterly, "Everything and anything related to the cure falls under our umbrella."

"That is both comical and quite unsettling."

"You're fitting in well already." She comments.

"Miss Valentine," Captain Kennedy approaches, "Your presence is requested in the war room urgently."

"Good morrow to you as well, Captain." Jill teases, watching a rusty hue overtake him.

"My apologies, madam." He bows to her.

"It is quite alright. Take me to this war room." She turns to say goodbye to Rebecca, but she has already disappeared amongst the chaos.

"Miss Valentine?" The Captain holds out his arm to her. "You've picked a wonderful day to start. Things are particularly calm today."

"Are they?" She chuckles.

"Indeed, nobody has been set aflame nor has anyone been escorted to the madhouse."

"You surely jest."

"I wish that were the case. This work is not meant for the faint of heart, not that I imagine you will encounter such a problem, Miss."

"I will not, my constitution is quite strong."

He holds open the door to her. Upon her entrance, an argument seems to end. General Wesker is positively fuming while Dr. Birkin is red-faced. The Colonel stands between them, looking down at the map before him as if he were picking out every other coordinate he'd rather be existing in at the present.

"May I present Miss Valentine."

The Doctor and the General continue to stare at one another, even as the General speaks. "You're late."

"I was informed that ladies are not permitted presence here until after the noon hour." Jill says as Captain Kennedy leaves with a click of the door behind him.

General Wesker turns his head sharply to her, "Not you, not anymore."

"Yes, sir." She agrees, approaching the map. "Might I ask, what is the meaning behind your urgent invitation?"

"Oh, sweet Jesus." The Colonel groans, running a hand along his brow.

General Wesker turns his body towards her, "There's been a scarcity of attacks as of late-"

"We are merely pushing them back!" Dr. Birkin argues.

"It must mean something!"

As the shouting begins in earnest once more, Jill approaches the map, "Colonel, tell me what I am looking at."

"All of the recent attacks in the city, ma'am. Typically, attacks are of four to five unmentionables and take place in the poor districts, the outer walls of the city, and near the sewage systems. However, recently the only attacks have been by individual infected and they're seemingly random." He points to each of the outlined areas.

"We cannot explain this away?" Jill asks, ignoring the shouting as best she can.

"Most unfortunately not. Normally, we blame random isolated attacks on travelers who were unknowingly infected, but there's been a lack of visitors to the city in the past two months." He explains.

"You mean to say that they're becoming organized." Jill says plainly. "Their attacks are perhaps targeted."

"That is an absurd notion," Dr. Birkin claims waving his hands wildly, "But of course such an unpracticed, ineffectual child would think such a thing."

"It is not such an outlandish thought, Doctor." She says firmly. "The plague could very well be developing. I have, in fact, made such an observation."

"How do you mean?" Colonel Burton asks.

"I spent some time in China two years ago. They claimed that the undead were able to disguise themselves in society for up to a week without suspicion." She explains. "I did not believe such a thing were possible until I experienced this very phenomenon myself. My host's neighbor hid his affliction five days before he attempted an attack."

"Nonsense!" Dr. Birkin growls.

"Allow the lady to speak." General Wesker scolds.

Jill pulls out her journal and flips through the pages.

"Unprepared I see." General Wesker taps his foot impatiently.

"I interviewed my host in China with my father. He told us that those who were well educated in life tended to retain control over their minds far longer than common peasants."

She pulls out a drawing she'd sketched of the being described to her depicting a face half gone, but with light retained in the beast's eye.

"It seems that they are unable to halt the decomposition process, but they can hold off on their mental transformation."

"So, we've monsters with minds now." The Colonel shakes his head.

"I also witnessed a woman who was able to stave off her sickness to attend one last party, though she was done away with quickly and I know not how long her affliction held her."

Dr. Birkin scoffs, "Yes, of course it was at a social engagement."

Jill passes him a scowl as General Wesker rips the sketch from her hand, "Half dead, but still inside…"

"It seems so." She agrees.

He looks at her, gaze cold and steely before he turns to Colonel Burton.

"I want more patrols posted around these main sectors." He gestures to the map where the attacks have been most recently.

"Yes, General."

"I will not have London falling into the hands of the undead." He drops Jill's sketch to the floor. "Your drawing skills could stand to be improved."

"I may not have the time for such refinement if you should lose the city." She retorts, watching the flames roar back to life behind his eyes.

"You will watch your tongue, Miss Valentine. Your presence is tolerated merely because of your father's reputation and our own desperation. Do not allow yourself to think you are wanted here." He growls.

"I could never put such an expectation on anyone who squabbles so petulantly." She retorts coolly.

"I will set up those patrols, General. Shall I escort her to her station?" Colonel Burton intercedes before General Wesker can attack her. He cannot stop, however, the absolute ferocity in the General's gaze.

"The dungeon would be more fitting for such a wench, but I suppose her station will suffice." He turns back to the map and Jill is swiftly escorted out of the room.

"Wicked, crass, ungrateful man…nay, _both_ of them!" Jill releases her rage in a simple huff.

"Please be careful, Miss Valentine. I am uncertain how often, if at all, I will be able to extract you from such terrible situations." Colonel Burton offers her the now crumpled sketch.

She takes it gently. "Thank you, Colonel, it was most kind of you to do so at all."

"Don't make a habit of picking fights, you'll find there's no winning against the General. He'd rather have your head on a pike than admit defeat."

"Indeed." She nods. "Accept my apology."

"No need to apologize, just learn to hold your temper."

"I will do my best henceforth."

"Come, allow me to show you where your working station is." He gestures for her to follow and so she does. The burn of embarrassment washes over her as she walks between row after row of unkempt desks. Many of the men present stop to stare openly at her, but she does her best to keep her gaze forward. No use in being angry with so many different men at the same time.

Lieutenant Dewey is waiting for her with a stack of documents and swiftly issues her a schedule. He does not inquire about her uncharacteristic silence; instead, he hands off her assignments and heads to his own desk.

She gets to work swiftly, sorting through her own thoughts as well as the documents before her. In all her life, she never thought she'd see so many impossibilities come to pass - men so unabashedly cruel in front of her, the desperation of the military which can only mean humanity is on the verge of defeat against the undead.

And, of course, the sheer idea that zombies could possibly be strategizing the fall of mankind.


	6. Braced for Combat

Jill is not relieved from duty until the following week and thus she must reschedule combat training with Rebecca and Claire, but the day in which they all have enough time to come together for such an event inevitably occurs. Claire and Rebecca collect her early in the day, taking her to a district of training halls; apparently, in the city, there is not nearly enough room for private combat facilities to be a part of one's property. As such, there are dozens of buildings specifically tailored for combat training lining the streets of London, each owned by well-established families.

"My brother prefers the one on our property in the countryside." Claire explains as they are let into her family's training grounds. "But he's of the opinion that one should not lose their abilities simply because they find themselves in the comfort and protection of the city."

"That I must agree with." Jill comments as she observes the space.

It's a ring large enough to handle the intensity of combat, equipped with mannequins in several states of disarray from use and plenty of sparring weapons lined along the walls.

"He would be glad to hear such a thing. God knows I give him grief for it." Claire chuckles, setting aside her things and discarding her cape.

Jill is glad to be wearing her training garments again and to see other women in much the same appearance is a pleasing sight indeed, one she has missed since losing her dear friends to the spoils of marriage.

Jill watches Rebecca and Claire as they begin their own stretching routines. They're light on their feet, she notes. Deciding that they most definitely rely on their flexibility and speed – as most women do – rather than strength and sure strikes, Jill plots her own attacks. Claire, especially, is spry and intense as she teasingly attacks Rebecca.

"Do you not partake in stretching, Jill? I should say I am surprised." Rebecca laughs as she fends off another playful jab from Claire.

"I find that centering the mind is the first step in a well-practiced session." She claims.

"Merciful God, don't tell me you're going to force us to meditate. My father, rest his soul, used to attempt such a practice with my brother and I. All for naught, we were far too impatient and restless. Indeed, we very nearly began assaults on our own minds out of boredom." Claire rolls her eyes at the memory.

"I do indulge in the practice; however, I will spare you of it... this time." Jill winks, beginning stretches of her own. "Tell me, what school of thought did your family study under?"

"My brother was sent to the Wong household for his training. My father was one of the many who were convinced of Chinese prowess against the horde. By proxy, that is the training I endured, only second hand of course." Claire explains.

It is an unfortunate truth that ladies are often only taught what their brothers and fathers choose to pass on to them. Jill caused quite the disturbance in her hometown when she suggested that her father teach her friends. Many a concerned father spoke to her own about what was and was not acceptable for their girls to undertake in such lessons.

"The Chinese are indeed great warriors against unmentionables, though I have found that their skills are much more adaptable for one-on-one combat. Should they encounter a slew of unmentionables or, heaven forbid, the horde itself, they'd be forced to retreat."

"And you would know, Jill. I heard of your adventures in China from Colonel Burton." Rebecca comments.

"Oh yes, I did so adore my time in the Orient. They've a surprisingly small number of unmentionables there, you know."

"Perhaps they've a cure and no intention of sharing it with the world." Claire teases.

"Doubtful. Imagine the amount of money they could make off of such an invention." Rebecca laughs. "Our contacts in China have no knowledge of such a medicine either. Perhaps it is the climate?"

"Even more unlikely. Based on my father's stories, it is quite warm and wet in China. Ideal weather for the undead to rise." Claire shakes her head.

"I must confirm your father's tales. My guess would be their cleanliness habits. Even their men enjoy such things as personal upkeep." Jill comments.

"Truly? Such an odd practice." Claire laughs.

"I enjoyed being in the company of those who took great care of their hygiene, I must admit."

"Perhaps a movement towards such can begin here, though I imagine many would protest." Rebecca laughs.

"What school did you learn from, Rebecca?" Jill asks.

"My learning has come mostly from Claire," she admits, "Though my father taught me some from his Slavic training. Unfortunately, the man is a pacifist, so I was merely taught self-defense and not much in the way of fighting, per se."

"Interesting." Jill nods, concluding her exercises.

"Are you ready to spar, Jill?" Claire asks eagerly.

"I am."

"I will try my very hardest not to be disheartened when you best me, but be warned, I am a sore loser."

"You sound as if I have defeated you presently. Come, let us see what the future holds." Jill readies herself with a breath as Rebecca takes a seat outside of the ring.

"First strike is mine?" Claire asks after a second of the two staring at one another.

Jill doesn't answer as a foot comes flying towards her face. Rather she, quite unbothered, steps back, throwing Claire into a circle around herself. The younger girl quickly recovers, taking the opportunity to step closer and attempt another kick. This time, Jill reflects with ease, her forearm making contact with the redhead's foot, and she jerks her back.

Claire stumbles for a second, losing all humor and becoming a vicious competitor before she can rise once more. Lunging rapidly at her opponent, Claire throws three strikes, all of which Jill counters with an unsettling calm about her before ducking low to avoid the foot that comes mere moments after the assault.

Not one to be thwarted so quickly, Claire leaps over Jill and – now crouched level with her opponent – thrusts out her leg. Jill retaliates by placing one hand on the ground and walking over Claire's body to a standing position.

Letting out an undignified groan, Claire leaps up and attempts to throw her whole body into her next attack. Jill simply leans out of the way, with the result of Claire toppling over herself. Rebecca laughs openly, gaining a scowl from the younger girl as she picks herself up.

"Chin up, Claire! You knew what you were getting yourself into." Rebecca claims.

"So you say!" Claire growls, flipping over in the hopes of kicking Jill's neck. However, the skilled warrior grasps at Claire's ankle just before her leg is fully extended. Jill twists around and knocks a blow to the inside of Claire's knee, sending her to the ground in a heap.

"Oof." The sound falls out of Claire's mouth unintentionally.

Still, she rises once again to face the superior fighter.

"I give you due credit, Claire. You're very determined." Jill compliments, elegantly dodging yet another brash attack.

"Determined and blinded by her own hubris." Rebecca chimes in.

Claire doesn't respond and merely calculates her next attack, hair askew from its proper place and breath unsettled in her chest. She, again, attempts to disorient Jill by circling her with three cartwheels before pursuing another attack. This time, she attempts once with a fist to the head followed by a knee towards the thigh. Jill dodges the fist succinctly before lifting her own leg in time to avoid the hit and locking the offending appendage between her legs in one agile motion.

Claire balances on her hands before thrusting her uncaptured leg out towards Jill, with the most regrettable consequence of tangling herself in Jill's dress amid the process. Jill is unperturbed by the situation and easily dislodges the younger girl. During which time, Jill is also able to force Claire onto her back.

With her breath lost, Claire takes a moment on the ground to evaluate the situation.

"You have yet to stage your own assault." Claire says sharply.

"Don't encourage her!" Rebecca calls from her safety.

"It is positively insulting!" Claire claims standing up.

"If you are quite certain…" Jill waits for the affronted nod to come from her outraged partner.

"I want to test my defensive skills." Claire claims.

"As you wish."

Jill swiftly approaches. With a flat hand, she jabs the younger girl's middle. Claire gasps, yet manages to take hold of Jill's hand before she can pull it away. In response, Jill revolves around Claire until they're back-to-back; at which point, Claire has the good sense to release her attacker's hand.

Jill takes such an opportunity to grasp Claire's shoulders and push off of the ground, sending her to the floor. Jill retains her grasp of Claire's shoulders until her hands can be most assured in a seamless transfer to the ground. Claire lets out another undignified sound as she hits the floor, face firmly in the ground as Jill stands up.

"Call it, Claire! Before she breaks your nose." Rebecca implores her.

Claire makes one last attempt instead, reaching out to grasp Jill's ankle. Jill allows the contact just so that she can wrench her leg in the opposite direction at the last second. A distinct pop from Claire's shoulder is audible, spurring a gasp from all three ladies.

Claire takes back her arm and examines it to ensure she has not dislocated it. Once she has decided there is no damage, she looks up at Jill and laughs.

"I suppose that is God's final warning that, should I press any further, I'll sustain a much more grievous injury." She concedes, standing and bowing to the victor. "You are as worthy a warrior as your reputation indicates."

"You lasted much longer than I expected, Claire. Excellent work." Jill returns the gesture.

"What a show indeed." Rebecca claps for the performers.

"I am certain yours will be greater still." Claire places her hands on her hips, breath bated and shallow as she speaks.

"Oh no, I'll not be sparing Jill." Rebecca folds her arms firmly. "I rarely win against you, I'll be slaughtered by her."

"Come now, Rebecca!" Claire laughs. "We had a most wonderful time, a great deal of fun indeed."

"Absolutely not." Rebecca insists.

"We can use weapons if you'd prefer." Jill intercedes.

"Unfortunately, the only weapon I excel at wielding is a musket. I daresay that it would be a waste of bullets and a travesty to use such a thing against you."

"I am honored that you would think so and appreciate your candor on the rationing of bullets in this time of war." Jill laughs.

"If I may, it would be a true shame for someone so skilled as you to die by the hands of a bullet. Indeed, you are far more befitting of a beheading." Rebecca jests.

"Is that so?" Claire smirks, "I should think that the death of an unmentionable is far too unlikely. I believe that death would be rejected by her, in very much the same manner as every man she's ever encountered."

"Thus far, that has been the case." Jill receives a playful – though with vigorous strength behind it – shove from Claire.

"Oh Jill, speaking of which, there's an officers' ball tonight and it will be a most splendid event." Rebecca says cheerfully.

"Yes, of course! Jill, you must accompany me. I don't know what I would do if I were the only eligible lady in our immediate group of friends." Claire practically begs her.

Jill hesitates, "I am not certain-"

"Consider making it a consolation for nearly breaking my arm." Claire says with an airy laugh.

"I believe not breaking your arm _was _the consolation." Rebecca teases.

"I have been out all day, and to spring such a thing on my hosts-"

"We will go with you to ask. The Winters' are not so unreasonable as to hold you captive in their home." Rebecca says. "And I daresay, I am curious to see how you exist in such a place where passions and propriety are a game played for the highest stakes."

Jill rises to the bait with a grin, "I am well-mannered and an even better dancer, I assure you."

"Then, please humor me and exhibit such talents." Rebecca stands to challenge her.

Jill bites her lip in thought, "Very well, we must return to my lodgings and inquire about such an affair."

Claire squeals and launches into a gleeful embrace. "Thank you, Jill! We will have such fun."

Claire then turns her attention to Rebecca.

"You will wear your red dress, won't you? It is truly ravishing and I should very much like to wear my new taupe colored gown. The contrast between us will make for a most exquisite picture."

"Policing my garments, as always." Rebecca chuckles. "You are lucky I was already planning to."

"Oh, this will be such a lovely excursion." Claire claps enthusiastically.

"Indeed, and may I expect that you will receive any who ask for the pleasure of your hand?" Rebecca laughs, directing her question to Jill with a raised brow.

"No more than is proper, but I will ensure they are aware that I've no intention of anything other than a dance." Jill assures her as they gather their things.

"I sense a man will sweep you off your feet without your knowing so. Then you'll certainly hang up your swords." Rebecca teases.

"We have had such a conversation before, but it bears repeating. I'll not hang up my swords for any man." Jill insists.

Rebecca smirks. "For the right man you would."

"The right man would not ask me to." Jill counters.

"I think he'd love that about you." Claire says it so out of the blue that both Rebecca and Jill stare at her for a moment. "Excuse me, I was merely thinking aloud."

"Might I take a guess as to what had occupied you so?" Rebecca folds her arms with a broad grin.

"As amused as I am by this most stimulating conversation, I believe we should make this business of speaking with your hosts quickly. I fear I must rest before tonight's festivities." Claire chuckles, quickly changing the subject.

"Perhaps we should drop off the young miss first and I will escort you to the Winters'?" Rebecca asks, receiving a glare from Claire.

"I believe that would be prudent. I'll not have the only other eligible woman with whom I am acquainted leaving early due to exhaustion." Jill and Rebecca give Claire such gazes that could very well be named motherly in nature.

"You are both quite boorish." Claire shakes her head but does not protest to being escorted home.

"Tell me, Jill, what kind of training allowed you to be so proficient? Surely your father was an adept fighter in his own time, but I am uncertain he could have taught you so many facets." Rebecca inquires before they depart.

"That is true. My father's mastery of the sword is second to none, but without a weapon, he is not so skilled. Rather, he took it upon himself to have me travel abroad with him and several students. I was awarded the opportunity to work with many masters during my time in foreign lands."

"What such places?" Claire asks as they exit the training center.

Jill recalls tales from her travels, thoroughly captivating her audience and reminiscing on such wonderful memories she does not visit often. In a world where zombies walk the streets, one must be present at all times, as reminiscing can be a dangerous game when awareness is vital. She is enticed by her own stories, musing over the loveliest of experiences that God has granted her in this life. It is both stimulating and humbling for her to share these exploits with friends.

The duo leaves Claire off at Colonel Burton's home before departing towards the Winters' estate. Rebecca is a sharp tool and Jill, for one, enjoys her cutting humor and ruthless teasing all the way to their destination.

Upon her entrance, Jill calls out to announce herself, "Ethan? Mia?"

Mia comes bustling out of the drawing room, a jolt of confusion melting across her features, "Miss Chambers, what a surprise."

"Good day, Mrs. Winters." They bow to one another as Mia turns to Jill.

"Is everything alright?"

"Quite. I simply wanted to request permission to attend a social event this evening." Jill says, feeling positively childish.

"Do you mean the officers' ball, Jill? I see no problem in your attendance." Mia affirms. "I am so glad you are beginning to enjoy the city. It's quite terrible seeing you merely go between here and the laboratory. Go! Enjoy yourself."

"Thank you, Mia." Jill feels the excited look Rebecca is giving her.

"Then Billy and I will return to escort you to the event. And, of course, with Claire." Rebecca takes Jill's hands as she speaks. "It will be such a marvelous time."

"I should hope so." Jill laughs as Rebecca begins to make her exit.

Just as Rebecca is nearly out the door, she turns back around, "And we shall see if the love of your life doesn't come waltzing in."

As the door closes, Jill hears Mia stifle a laugh.

Jill can only muster a short quip of, "No such thing will come to pass."


	7. Memory Refuted

Jill spends the remainder of the afternoon preparing for the ball. Between sharpening her knives and picking which dress to wear, she is utterly consumed by the affair. Dawning her favorite blue gown, one so rich in pigment that she could very well be mistaken for the Virgin Mary herself, she wonders if Claire will approve of the garment. She and Rebecca certainly seemed to be coordinating and Jill would not put it beyond them to stand clear of her the whole evening should their outfits clash. It's truly a thing Jill never imagined herself worrying about, but here she is, standing before a mirror wondering all the same.

Finally, the hour of her departure arrives. Still pinning her hair firmly in place, she hurries to meet Rebecca and Billy, both of whom are already anticipating her in the front hall. The couple speaks civilly with Mia as Jill reaches the final steps.

"Jill, you look positively stunning." Rebecca compliments as she approaches.

"I believe Claire was correct, Rebecca. Red is most assuredly a radiant color on you." Jill returns the courtesy as they clasp hands.

"Oh, do I have Claire to thank for the devastatingly gorgeous sight that is my fiancée? I must give her my most sincere tidings." Billy laughs.

"I believe that honor still falls to me, dear." Rebecca rolls her eyes before they depart, heralded by Mia's well wishes and waves as they exit the house.

"Are you feeling much anxiety, Jill?" Rebecca asks.

"Not particularly. I do believe that is excitement within me." She says, gaze passing over others on the street who are dressed finely.

The ladies of London certainly wear all the latest fashions and the extravagance of their very presence is not lost on Jill, though she is left wondering where they hide weapons under their bustles and fine silks. Such fabrics would leave necessary items as swords visible from the outside. It is an unimaginable humiliation to be seen at a ball with weapons. Places of status and enjoyment are no place for the toxicity of reality and there is surely nothing worse than damping the atmosphere of a dance.

"Very good, we should be most excited for such an event." Rebecca says with pride.

"You sound much like a doting mother, Rebecca. Try to treat your friends as adults." Billy taunts her.

"Trust me, Billy, after the display Jill made this morning, I will not disrespect her. I should very much like to make it to our wedding day fully intact."

"Indeed, you are quite a force to be reckoned with, Miss Valentine. Rebecca told me of your impressive show."

"Thank you, I am well aware of my skills. It was relieving to see Claire give up."

"Good God, yes indeed! The stubborn girl would have let you kill her to sustain her pride." Rebecca rolls her eyes. "And that brother of hers is no better. Nay, he _encourages_ such behavior."

Jill laughs, "Is that so?"

"Forgive me, but it is true. I doubt she could see any type of flaw within him were she held at the wrong end of a pistol and her life reliant upon it. I fear she will make a fierce enemy to whomever he chooses to pursue romantically. It is a most unfortunate circumstance."

"Truly? She would not help a sister-in-law against her brother?"

"Surely not. She adores him beyond comprehension, it is as if they share the same soul." Rebecca waves her hand.

"Such gossip of your best friend, Rebecca. I'm surprised at you. As a preacher's daughter, you should be well and truly ashamed." Billy laughs, clearly allowing her indulgence in shameful activities.

"Don't you go scolding me, Mr. Coen, you know better." Rebecca giggles. "And we all know that the truest of friends provide their criticisms. One cannot hope to grow beyond themselves in this lifetime should their closest confidants contain them to the status quo."

"I agree with you, Rebecca. If we can ever hope to improve humanity, we must help each other to evolve." Jill intercedes.

"My sentiments precisely."

"Now, if only the physicians and the military would agree, we'd have a cure by now." Jill adds with a laugh.

"Indeed. You women are wicked in your truths," Billy agrees, "You must tell Claire this, then. Why do so in her absence?"

"Do you think I have not expressed such thoughts to her directly? Of course I have, but I must repeat her intense stubbornness." Rebecca chuckles. "I fear she must see him act unsightly to realize his humanity."

"Let us hope she merely adores a sister-in-law. That would surely be simpler." Jill laughs, the Colonel's home coming into view just ahead.

"Simple things are hardly proper teachers." Rebecca responds in kind, rapping against the door.

An attendant answers swiftly, informing them that the military couple is very nearly ready. Claire is already sitting by, dressed handsomely and boredly observing her gloves until her friends enter the room.

She runs to hold Rebecca, "Oh you look spectacular. And Jill! God certainly has blessed the officers with our presence this evening, for we are a ravishing trio."

"Spoken modestly." Billy mutters with a smirk, but Claire is much too distracted to pick up on the jab.

"I have not been nearly so excited for an event in months." Claire expresses.

"I must admit I feel the very same." Jill chuckles.

"Then, it is indeed a thing of fate that we are to embark on this journey together." Claire takes Jill's hands bristling with utter excitement.

"Apologies for the delay. The children needed to be put to bed." The voice of Mrs. Burton interrupts their conversation.

"No need to apologize so long as we are now able to start off at once." Claire assures them, her hosts smile at her in response.

"Let us be off, then." Colonel Burton gestures for the young ladies to get a head start.

"Might I inquire, Rebecca, your father is a preacher?" Jill asks once they're well on their way.

The young ladies are at the front of the group while Billy discusses work with Colonel Burton.

"Indeed, Billy grew up in my village, and as a consequence, father's congregation as well," Rebecca sighs, "I unfortunately had little love for learning the Bible. My father was quite disheartened by it all. Until, of course, my brother and sister were born with much more interest in such tasks. Then he was more than happy to allow me the freedom I so desperately craved."

"That is why she's little in the way of combat skills." Claire says with a giggle. "Her father taught compassion over practicality."

"My father has managed some fifty years on this good earth and has yet to encounter an unmentionable he could not avoid." Rebecca defends him.

"That in itself is a skill." Jill smirks.

"I agree." Rebecca laughs. "I was so thankful when my mother allowed me to come live with my aunt here in London. That is how I met Claire."

"Did you know of Billy back home?"

"Oh yes, we knew of each other, but it was not until I began my work that we met personally. Truly, I owe this city all that I am grateful for – friends, love, and work to be proud of. God has been kind to me."

They reach the building in which the function is being held. There are a few soldiers with women on their arms standing just outside the hall. The Colonel stops to greet them while the ladies immediately start for the dance floor.

Billy, shortly upon their entrance, takes Rebecca for the next dance. This action allows Jill and Claire a moment alone to speak with one another.

"I do so adore dancing, Jill. Don't you?"

"Absolutely, it takes skill and refinement."

"And it is quite fun as well." Claire laughs.

"Indeed." Jill agrees.

"I cannot express my gratefulness for having you by my side this evening. Rebecca always takes to the floor for the first few dances and leaves me utterly defenseless against a much more dangerous horde than unmentionables."

"Men?"

"Who else?" They laugh together until they are approached by Captain Kennedy and a man Jill does not recognize.

"Ladies, I hope you are enjoying your evening thus far." Captain Kennedy bows to them.

"We have only just arrived, but we intend to have a marvelous time." Claire smiles.

"Might I introduce Lieutenant Carlos Oliveira. He's about to return to his native Spain in hopes of sharing our work here with their cure development team."

"It is a pleasure to meet such beautiful ladies on my last night in your fair city." He bows to them.

"The pleasure is ours, Lieutenant." Jill curtsies to him, "Were you working within the umbrella, sir? I do not recall your likeness, nor do I recollect an encounter between us."

"I have not spent much time indoors, as it were," he laughs, "Though I can assure you, madam, that were I to have laid eyes on you, nothing could have kept me from introducing myself."

"Flattery is such a trivial thing, sir."

"Then shall I act upon my advances and request a dance?"

"Without knowing my name?" She chuckles.

"Us Spaniards enjoy a little mystery in our romantic endeavors." He holds out his hand and Jill takes it with a grin.

"I must warn you, Lieutenant, I've no intention of sparking any such romance."

He laughs. "Oh yes, you are quite similar to the women I encounter back home. Should you change your mind during or after our dance, please inform me."

"Should you succeed in a seduction, I may have to behead you as a demon of lust."

"Indeed, madam, though I should be the first to act upon such a feeling, for you have bewitched me by your very presence."

They line up for the dance, bowing to one another with beautiful, brilliant smiles. They partake in a most appealing and riveting turn around the dance floor. Carlos is fast on his feet, making for an excellent partner. It is unfortunate that, even as Jill leaves the dance floor sore with laughter, he has not succeeded in romancing her. He's a particularly good sport about it, likely because he's a whole room of women left to try his tricks with.

Jill returns to Claire, who danced with Captain Kennedy while Jill was otherwise engaged. Billy and Rebecca have also returned to the single ladies, breathless and joyous.

"Such magnificent music. I could very well dance myself to death's door heralded by a melody so sweet." Rebecca laughs.

"I beg you to refrain from such an action." Billy takes her hand and kisses it adoringly.

"For you and only you." Rebecca promises.

"I believe the out of doors is calling your names." Claire rolls her eyes.

"Or perhaps that is the bedchamber." Jill laughs, Claire covers her mouth to hide the undignified sound she makes.

"I will be ruthless when the two of you are so enraptured by love." Rebecca pouts playfully.

"Cupid's arrow does not fly true, Rebecca, I should know. I've seen many a drooling fool who thought he'd met his soul's match; simply for him to come to the unfortunate conclusion that is was only I." Jill waves down a servant so that they can all partake in drinks.

"Cupid has impeccable aim. It is you who intends to thwart his plans indefinitely." Rebecca says, sipping her drink.

"I must agree with Miss Valentine. Many a man has fallen in love and pursued a doomed partnership." Captain Kennedy chuckles. "Cupid perhaps should sample Ben Franklin's invention."

"Which? A stove?" Claire teases.

They are interrupted by officers looking to dance with Jill and Claire. The ladies do their duty by indulging the soldiers' want for attention, though they and the next several dance partners are cast aside by the pair once the indulgence is satisfied. Indeed, Claire only accepts the offer of a second dance from Captain Kennedy.

Jill does not agree to more than one dance from each of her partners. Colonel Burton calls her sensible.

"Oh yes, positively practical and on her way to becoming the loveliest old maid that ever lived." Rebecca jests.

"There's nothing wrong with retaining independence. I daresay it's saved our marriage thus far. Would you not agree, husband?" Mrs. Burton laughs.

"Indeed, were it not for our separate hobbies, she may have strangled me by now." He chuckles, leaning down to peck her cheek.

"And besides, you make becoming an old maid sound dull and impractical. Spinsters don't seem to mind beyond being called such unflattering terms." Jill interjects.

"Are we plotting Miss Valentine's eventual romance?" Lieutenant Dewey approaches, wife held firmly by his side and the Aikens just behind. "Because Margaret has just the cousin."

"I am sure your cousin is lovely – for a woman who would be in want of a marriage." Jill laughs.

"When love blindsides you, Miss Valentine, we will all be waiting with bated breath to hear the tale." Dewey's wife laughs.

"Is silence truly a tale worth telling?" Jill asks.

Captain Aiken speaks up, "Silence is the most telling tale of all."

Jill gives him a playful grin, "You certainly attest to such a belief."

"Don't tease the poor man, he can't handle it." Dewey laughs, clapping the man's shoulder playfully. Richard takes the bout of teasing he receives with grace before Claire and the Captain return from their dance.

"We have had the most perfect night, haven't we?" Claire looks to Jill.

"We are in agreement. I must admit, I was skeptical before attending. I am glad you convinced me otherwise." Jill watches Claire bounce with excitement.

"This is merely the beginning!" She claims with a laugh.

"For many things I fear." Jill laughs with her.

"Good luck to you, Jill." Rebecca teases. "You have fallen into her trap."

"And you, I believe, are along for the ride as well?" Jill pries.

"Of course! I could not miss such lovely chaos." Rebecca sighs.

Suddenly, Claire gasps, "Oh Colonel, you didn't!"

Colonel Burton laughs as Claire wraps her arms around his neck, then she swiftly bounds away. Mrs. Burton beams with pride as her gaze follows after the young girl.

"Is she quite well?" Captain Kennedy asks with a smile.

"I sent for her brother." The Colonel says. "God knows we need more hands in the umbrella and she misses him so dearly. A perfect solution, in my book."

"Chris will likely not be of much help in the umbrella. The man is an adept fighter, but hardly _understands_ such creatures." Richard laughs.

Jill catches Captain Kennedy lose a bit of his confidence upon hearing that it is Claire's brother whom has her so enthralled. The poor boy probably fears him greatly.

"Oh yes, prepare yourself, Jill. You'll not be hearing the end of Claire's golden brother now that he's in town." Rebecca teases.

"A tyrant in our midst?" Jill laughs.

"In his own right, truly."

Claire's voice interrupts their laughter, "Chris, might I introduce you to-"

"Why, if it isn't Jill Valentine."

Jill's heart nearly gives out at the sound of his voice, as though from the farthest depths of her nightmares he's sprung out. Right before her stands none other than Mr. Redfield, cocky grin and all. He steps closer to her, dressed in traveling clothes with his shotgun still strapped to his back as if he came straight from the road to the festivities.

"I must say, it is such a pleasure to see you again." He says gallantly.

Gathering her wits enough to speak, she spits at him, "I imagine, for you, it must be."

There is shock in Claire's voice as she asks, "You know each other?"

"It is with great displeasure that I do." Jill sneers at the way his smile only grows.

He laughs as he speaks, closing yet more distance between them, "Come now, Miss Valentine, you must have forgiven me for our first encounter by now."

"I assure you, I have not."

"My, my, you've some sort of iron willpower to brood for so long over such a petty thing."

Jill swears she hears Claire utter a shocked, "Chris!"

"I shall add petty to your growing list of my ill qualities that you so willingly outlined for me within minutes of our meeting. That I am ungentle, unbecoming, peculiar, insane, simple, and now petty. Oh! And let us not forget that I am quite like an unmentionable. Have I recalled them all, Mr. Redfield?"

"You've been thinking of me then?" He steps closer still.

"Did you say such things to her?" Claire asks, exasperated and very nearly faint.

"She twists my words." He laughs, though not once do their eyes break apart from one another. "Please, Miss Valentine-"

"Take one step closer and I shall have your head, sir. Do not doubt my abilities." She snaps.

"I might think you were the one traveling day and night to be here, Miss Valentine, with the way you so swiftly and willfully ignore my olive branch."

"When you have a proper thing as that, please, keep it between you and God, for you'll not receive such forgiveness from me; rather a mere suggestion for where to put such a thing."

She gathers her skirt and begins to walk off, but Rebecca seizes her by the arm, "Jill!"

"I will not tolerate being in the presence of a man whose instinct is to accost, belittle, and degrade a woman in an attempt to apologize. And this insult, mind you, is the second time he has thought such a thing to be acceptable. Though, to you, I offer my sincerest apology that you had to witness such a thing. Goodnight."

With that, Jill is gone to the streets of London, leaving behind a shocked silent group of friends – though it is unlikely she will still be able to call them such. Angry breath falls out of her body in heavy puffs as she stalks down the street.

"Useless, insignificant man." She growls to herself as she slows her pace. "Makes me sick."

"Most men do, dear." She hears the voice of a women pop up from the alleyway nearby. Startled out of her skin, Jill clutches her chest.

"Excuse me, I did not know-" Jill ceases her apology as she locks eyes with the woman who spoke.

She has no lips and no skin from where her mouth should be down to her collarbone, rotted completely off by _Las Plagas_.

"Do not apologize, men do act in such mysterious ways. Living… or dead."

"God help me." Jill stands by stunned, trying her best to focus on what weapon to pull out rather than the fact that a zombie is speaking to her.

"Oh, He is, the leader of His righteous army has come to Earth. Didn't you hear? The day of salvation is nigh." She holds out a maggot-infested hand to Jill. "He is a gracious leader, the king of kings, come to deliver us."

Jill internally says the lord's prayer as she dares to ask, "What do you mean?"

"Soon, we will all be united again. No more families ripped apart by illness. Death will cease when we are all_ dead_." She says it sweetly, with the pop of some bone as she creeps closer to Jill. "Come, dear, I don't want to hurt you, I want to _show you. _Allow me such a pleasure."

Suddenly, there's a loud crack and the zombie's head is blown to pieces with blood rocketing into the air and splattering like rain on the sidewalk beside her. Jill gasps in horrified surprise as the body of the unmentionable collapses to the ground.

"Are you alright?" It's Chris Redfield, reloading his shotgun as he approaches her.

Still aghast, she barely manages to speak.

"I was having a conversation."

"With an undead." He scoffs.

"She was much more pleasing company than yours." Jill turns her attention to the corpse he's kicked over to ensure she's well and truly deceased.

"I… ugh." He runs a hand through his hair, finding himself at a loss for words as Jill kneels down to inspect the creature.

This woman must have been dead for several months at a minimum to be so decomposed. In which case, how was she so coherent? Had she fought off hunger for months on end? What in the name of God was she speaking of? A king of kings on Earth?

She plucks the brooch off of her dress and examines it, a difficult task with only lamp light available to her.

"What is this?" A deadpan voice calls.

"General Wesker." Jill stands upright, clutching the brooch in her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I've taken patrols of my own, Miss Valentine. Clearly, they're necessary." The General eyes the corpse, "Mr. Redfield, I see you've returned to London."

"Indeed, I have, General."

"Have you spotted any other unmentionables?" He asks.

"Just this one, sir." Mr. Redfield seems weary of the General.

Wesker pays him no mind as he examines the scene. "It is quite dangerous for a lady to be traveling alone and at night, is it not, Miss Valentine?"

"How do you know I was alone?" Jill asks.

"Mr. Redfield would not have caused such a hit were he by your side." He says, gesturing to the blood splattered ground, "I will have my soldiers clean this up if you are certain this is an isolated incident."

"As certain as I can be, yes." Mr. Redfield responds.

"Then, if you would be so kind, take the lady home." The General starts off towards the direction from which he came. As quickly as he had appeared, he is gone just the same.

"I'll not require such an escort, I can assure you." Jill refutes Mr. Redfield immediately following the General's departure.

"Have you not just proven to yourself how dangerous it is to traverse the streets alone?"

"I fear not for my bodily safety. Rather, I fear the harm my reputation would surely sustain should I be seen in your presence." She tests him with her words.

In response, his gaze burns with some sort of passion before he gives a resigned shake of the head.

"Miss Valentine, I implore you, even if my very existence is the most detestable thing you can imagine… allow me to see you home safely." It is a genuine request, as well as the first time his eyes and words do not challenge that of her own.

"I-"

"If for no other reason, then perhaps because the General would surely be put out with both of us were we to disobey his wishes."

She shakes her head for a second before bending to his request. "That is… likely wise."

In silence, they begin to walk towards the Winters' estate, keeping up an honorable distance as they go. It is awkward and tense as they walk down the street, accompanied only by the pale light provided by street lamps.

"Did you not realize that Miss Redfield was my relative?" Mr. Redfield asks when the quietness can be upheld no longer.

"To be quite frank, I was not introduced to her as such. She presented herself to me as Claire, no more."

He nods, "Very much like her."

Jill simply cannot help herself, "How can you have a sister and yet speak of women with such vulgarity?"

"I beg your pardon, madam, but my sister is very much used to me and my _vulgarity_."

"Then perhaps she merely tolerates it out of her sheer admiration for you, for I do not believe any other would." At her words, he again falls silent, contemplative.

"For such a strong warrior, you certainly have thin skin." He finally responds

"Or perhaps such sensitivity helps me retain my humanity so that I do not become a monster akin to those I aim to destroy."

Unable to stand the tension, she once again pulls out the brooch for examination.

"Do you regularly take souvenirs from unmentionables?" He asks with a biting laugh.

"Only the ones who spout prophecy." She says upon realizing the insignia.

"Prophecy?" He chuckles.

"Are you familiar with the Book of Revelations?"

"You ask if I am educated at all."

It's a true sentiment. Every warrior is well acquainted with the final book of the Bible, as it is necessary in training around the Christian world. In a world where the dead walk among the living, they must all be armed with the word of God.

"Then you recognize this." She offers him a look at the brooch.

"I… cannot be sure in this lighting." He observes it for only a moment, handing it back to her, thoroughly unamused.

"It is the lamb of Christ," she says, "With seven eyes and seven horns."

"Refresh me on the subject since you seem to be so enthralled."

She rolls her eyes at his words, but recites as best she's able from memory, "Revelations 5:6, 'And I beheld in the midst of the throne and of the four beasts, and of the elders, stood a Lamb as it had been slain, having seven horns and seven eyes'."

"As impressed as I am by your memorization of the final book of the holy text, I do not follow your meaning."

"It is the form Christ takes before unleashing the apocalypse, sir." She says it plainly.

He stops cold and stares at her, "Perhaps it is nothing. She could have simply been a cultist in life."

"Had she not proclaimed the coming of a righteous leader, I might agree."

"Undead don't proselytize." He argues.

"Undead do not also retain their ability to speak beyond their first day of turning, and yet, she must have been near four months infected, if not more."

He shakes his head, "It is… impossible."

"Nothing is impossible here, sir."

They stare at one another for a few stiff moments. Sizing one another up in light of her discovery, Jill is very nearly convinced that he is not the same Mr. Redfield from a moment ago.

"We should get you home." He eventually says, returning to himself after such an alarming discussion.

"Indeed." She agrees, turning her gaze forward.

The rest of their walk proceeds in silence. When the Winters' home finally stands before them, Jill turns to him.

"Do express my regret to your sister, it was… unbecoming of me to leave so suddenly."

"I daresay I'll be in much more trouble for ruining her fun." He chuckles.

Jill nods, contemplating Rebecca's previous mention that Claire could see no fault in her brother. She hopes dearly she has not lost a friend.

"Take care, Mr. Redfield."

"Goodnight, Miss Valentine." He steps back only to speak once more, "I hope… I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not for my sake, then because I cannot bear to come between Claire and her happiness. I doubt very much, if you've known her for any amount of time, that you could stomach such a venture either."

Jill looks at him, ready and willing to rebuke him. He has still yet to ask for an apology for his own behavior; however, her voice betrays her good sense.

"I will consider it."

"That is all I can ask. I did not realize my words had wounded you so."

"Then perhaps you should think before speaking. I find _meditation_ helps." She allows a smirk to grace her features as she speaks.

He stands flabbergasted at her as she walks towards the home.

At last she turns to face him, still standing at the gate, "Goodnight, Mr. Redfield."

Still so uncertain of herself, Jill takes to twisting the brooch in her hand as she readies for bed. There are many things that have shocked her this night. Where she will begin when morning comes, she does not know. What she does know is that a storm is coming her way.


	8. Cloaked in Shadows and Secrecy

That very next morning, Jill is quite regretful as she readies herself for work. She dresses slowly and methodically as if her sluggishness will give her more time before the day must begin. Her gaze continuously falls to the brooch she'd taken from the body of the unmentionable last night. The eyes and horns of Christ stare back, demanding her full attention, but what use is attention when there is nothing more to gain from it?

There must be something she's not caught onto, something in the story she's forgotten…

Still, she knows it is useless to spend any more time on the matter, and she heads down for breakfast. She is not yet down the stairs when she hears Mia speaking in hushed tones. Unable to see where she is, Jill halts her steps to listen carefully.

"You think it is so?" Mia asks.

"Indeed, the mistress was quite adamant." It is a voice Jill swears she knows, but cannot place.

"But it is impossible! The doctor would never." Mia insists.

"The doctor is a mad man, there can be no denying it any longer."

"Very well… we must increase our efforts. Before… oh, good merciful God, we must stop this madness before the world follows suit."

There's an aggressive knocking at the front door. Jill hurries the rest of her way down the stairs to answer it.

"Jill! I was not aware you were up." Mia says, stepping out of the drawing room with that maid, Zoe Baker, just behind her.

"I am." Jill says, opening the front door. She is quite startled to see it is Claire, smiling sweetly and with a basket of baked goods dangling from her wrist.

"Jill, I am so glad you're still here." Claire gives a sad sort of smile.

"Claire, what a surprise! Come in, please." Jill steps aside to allow her entrance.

"Miss Redfield, it is quite early for you to be up, is it not?" Mia asks with a lovely little laugh, one that unsettles Jill as the two women embrace.

"It is indeed; however, I've a proper apology to make." Claire turns towards Jill at the mention.

"Oh Claire, it is I who must be apologizing. I acted most thoughtlessly and for that I beg your forgiveness." Jill drops her head in shame.

"I will not hear of such a thing." Claire insists. "Mrs. Winters, is there any place we could speak privately? If you have the time, Jill."

"For you, I do." Jill assures her.

"Why don't you take Claire to your room, Jill? I will have breakfast packed for you." Mia curtsies to them both, taking the basket offered by Claire as she departs.

Jill leads Claire towards her bedchambers, closing the door behind them.

Jill speaks quickly once Claire has observed the room, "Please accept my most sincere apology."

"I have just said I'll not hear of such a thing. You owe me nothing." She sighs. "It is I who should be offering an earnest apology to you on behalf of my brother."

Jill shakes her head, "You do not control his actions."

Claire gives a huff, "As much as I would like to, the man has no qualms ignoring such good advice as mine."

Jill can't help the laugh she emits, "Oh dear, has he not even his most loyal admirer on his side?"

"I am not one to follow blindly, Jill. I've plenty of opinions of my own." Claire chuckles.

"Indeed, madam." Jill sits on the bed and gestures for Claire to join her.

"Please believe that I have never known him to act so outrageously. Insofar as I have heard, he is most agreeable in social situations, even when I was not present at such functions. Many have noted him as lovely company."

Jill tries to bite her tongue, "Perhaps that was to spare you the consequence of his behavior."

Claire shakes her head, "Certainly not! The man has more friends than he has enemies. However, I do consider that he may be easily persuaded."

"On what grounds?"

"I believe it is a most unfortunate consequence of his intense need to please others."

Jill lets out a scoff. "To please others?"

"Yes, of course." Claire places her hand over Jill's. "My brother has a great deal of love for his fellow man. He's quite the people pleaser, but more than that, he truly cares for the opinions of others."

"Clearly not mine." Jill once again cannot help but comment.

Claire lets out a dejected sigh, "I can hardly believe he spoke to you in such a manner."

"Have the two of you had a conversation similar to this?"

"I have, though last night he was insistent that he had no desire to discuss the situation. He merely said that you twisted his words and their meaning. He was adamant, however, that his intentions were not to cause you such offense."

Jill shakes her head. "In my opinion, he made his intentions clear with the way he spoke."

"Might I suggest, that perhaps… oh good God, Jill. I am at a loss for what to say except that the man you met was surely not my brother." Jill looks up to see tears flowing freely down Claire's cheeks.

Jill pulls the young lady to her chest, "I am grievously sorry this has affected you so, Claire. Truly."

"I just don't understand." Claire sniffles, "My brother would never speak of anyone so brashly, so brazenly. He is not uncouth, indeed, he is the opposite."

"Most men do not speak well of women unless they are in the company of one."

"I refuse to accept that he would ever say such things."

Jill sighs. She desperately wants to remark that ignoring such truths does not negate their existence, but she feels terribly about the weight she has laid on Claire's shoulders. Jill cannot fathom encouraging her hysterics.

"I hope his actions will not affect our friendship, Jill." Claire confesses.

"Of course not." Jill moves a strand of Claire's hair from her wet cheeks, "I am not the type of person to allow the opinions of others to dictate my actions."

"I have such a difficult time making friends and an even more difficult time keeping them." Claire confides in her. "In fact, I am envious of my brother's ability to make friends everywhere he goes. I, for one, was graced with no such gift. I am a silly little girl who's yet to grow up and my nineteen years of life on this damned earth have not forced me into seriousness. Sometimes, I think God continues to take my loved ones in an attempt to darken my heart, but I refuse it."

"It is far more graceful to look out on such a place as this world and still see it beautiful than it is to give into devastation." Jill proclaims, handing Claire a handkerchief from her dresser. "Do not doubt your own strength, for it is bountiful and bright. Our world simply refuses to find such a thing courageous, even though Jesus himself called us to do so."

Claire wipes her eyes, "You believe such a thing? A warrior like you?"

"Claire, you are a lark among ravens. There is bravery in a deed like that."

"I see you as a sister, Jill. I know we have been friends for such little time, but I can hardly imagine losing our relationship."

"And you will not, as I have said." Jill assures her as the church bells signifying the hour ring deeply through the city. Jill is certainly late for work and a part of her is relieved to hold off such an excursion.

"When are you next free? I must make this injustice right."

"Do not seek atonement. There is no need. But, in four days' time, I would love to join you and Rebecca for tea, if you'll have me."

"Of course! Thank you, Jill." Claire hugs her friend once more.

Jill chuckles softly, returning the gesture, "Would you like to accompany me to the laboratory? I fear I must be going shortly, but I want to ensure you will be alright."

"I will be, thank you…" Claire takes in a deep breath, "I must be going back to my family's estate. My brother is having it reopened and I do believe he's earned a very stern talking to."

"No, Claire, he is a grown man. He made his own decisions and it is not your place to force him to see it as such." Jill stands, catching yet another glance at the brooch on her vanity as she turns to gather her journals.

"Yes, but I should like it if I were able to have my dear friend visit our estate and not have his presence be a problem."

Jill closes her eyes, a smile gently lifting the corners of her mouth. "I, too, am fully grown, Claire. His existence will not deter me from enjoying your company."

Claire beams at her, "Forgive me, then why was it that you left so urgently?"

"It was… the surprise of it all." Jill claims, "I was taken aback that he was not only present, but your brother in addition."

Claire chuckles, "God certainly has a sense of humor."

The two part ways with Jill rushing off to work in a hurry. Her late arrival is not reprimanded for the Umbrella is bustling with life. They've not the time nor the man power to scold such things as tardiness. It is as she sits at her desk that she again recalls the conversation that Mia held with her lady's maid. Does Mia know Dr. Birkin? And who would be the mistress in such a case? How does Mia know Claire?

London is a city full of mysteries and Jill can hardly stand it.

When she returns home that evening, Mia is not there. A maid informs Jill that Mrs. Winters is out with friends, but it is most peculiar when, the next day and the day afterwards, Mia is not home when Jill finds herself present.

In fact, they do not cross paths again until three days hence, and it is by mere happenstance that they see one another. Mia looks as though she is ready to depart for the day, but she is, instead, trimming an exquisite bouquet with gentleness and delicacy.

"Those are quite lovely." Jill comments.

Mia jumps at Jill's entrance, but does not hold surprise in her tone. "They are."

"Are they from Ethan?" She asks.

"Oh no, the Redfields sent them." Mia responds, finishing her clipping.

"The Redfields?" Jill asks, surprised.

"Indeed, Ethan manages their estate here in London." She explains.

"That was quite kind of them to express such gratitude." Jill says, thankful for Mia's conversational nature that allows Jill insight without any prying at all.

"But they are for you, Jill." Mia plucks a card from behind the vase and hands it to her.

"Whatever for?" Jill asks seeing her name finely written: _For the Lady Jill Valentine._

"I know not. The florist arrived this morning and said they were from Mr. Redfield. I must say, I did not know you were acquainted with him."

Jill shakes her head, "We have only met briefly. I am much more intimate with his sister, as you saw. You are certain they are not from her?"

"I am." Mia smiles sweetly, "Chris is a nice boy, albeit a little brash and stubborn. I would not be surprised if he were to dote on his sister's friends."

"You would not?" Jill can hardly believe the man she knows would act in such a way.

"Absolutely not! He is quite charming as well, so I've been told." She giggles.

Jill shakes her head, placing the card down from where it came.

"You speak as if you are his elder, but you cannot be older than him by much, I imagine."

"You are correct. I am just five years his senior, but there is such a difference between us."

"How do you mean?" Jill inquires.

"Well, he was raised in high society, of course. He was raised comfortably, trained rigorously, and, from what I have gathered, is quite the socialite. He's considered to be the wealthiest, most eligible bachelor in the country. Depending upon who you ask such a question, I've heard that many say the man is second only to the prince himself.

"Even so, he has always treated me graciously. I have noticed in him, however, a tendency to follow whichever way the wind blows, as it were. He's in the business of pleasing everyone he meets. I do wonder from time to time if anyone knows him at all. Sometimes I wonder if even he is acquainted with his true self."

Her admittance shocks Jill. Could she possibly speak truly? Claire had expressed much the same sentiment, but is there validity in it?

"As far as I have known him, I've only seen his instance at needling others." Jill says firmly.

"Perhaps." Mia nods. "Though I might implore you to think of the company he was keeping at the time."

Mia notices the uncertainty in Jill's gaze and so she speaks once more. "Might I have them put up in your room?"

"No!" Jill says far too quickly, "They are… they should be kept here for others to enjoy. God knows I spend so little time in my room as it were."

Mia looks at her with a laugh before agreeing. In an attempt to outrun the burning embarrassment Jill feels is about to overcome her, she excuses herself. Hurrying out the door and onto the streets, she begins to wonder about the sincerity behind Mr. Redfield's initial apology. Truly, she believed he had only wanted her forgiveness for Claire's sake – he had implied no less in that previous encounter – and perhaps that sentiment still rings true. But could there be yet more behind such an attempt? And what of their first encounter? Surely a man would not be so passive as to allow others to decide his actions.

Then, she wonders if she has not done the same in allowing his actions to so immediately decide her disdain of him. Such a thought angers her and so she casts it out of her mind, a simple task with the rampant and chaotic energy of the Umbrella. It is such a trying day that Jill is relieved to have the next day to herself.

However, once she returns home, there is no avoiding them. The flowers which spur Ethan to compliment her taste in friends and suggest that she should try to engage His Majesty in conversation. All the while, the budding bouquet continues to gawk at her, taunting her with their language – Jill had no such time to learn the language of flowers. This instance is the only time in her life she can recall wishing she'd learned such a frivolous, tired art. She resents such an idea even while lying in bed that evening.

Rebecca is in the front hall early the next morning, greeting Jill with a soft smile and a warm embrace.

"It is so good to see you again." Rebecca comments, linking arms with her. "Claire assured me you were not put out, but I had to be certain for myself."

Jill leads them out of the home, grimacing at the thought of the Officer's Ball. "I am glad you are not cross with me for my prior behavior."

"Cross? Of course not! The festivities were just about to wind down when you livened it up one last time." Rebecca chuckles.

"I suppose I did." Jill shivers at the idea.

"Why, after your exit, we were all left absolutely flabbergasted. Claire looked to Chris and demanded to know what he had done to you. When he would not answer, she practically shoved him out the door after you."

"Oh God, how embarrassing." Jill shakes her head.

Rebecca laughs, "Absolutely not. Possibly for Mr. Redfield it was, but the rest of us were in stitches."

Jill doesn't know how to take that, but Rebecca doesn't seem to mind. "I must say, it was a most entertaining display."

"I did not intend such, I can assure you."

"Of course not… but Captain Kennedy spent the rest of the night consoling Claire." Rebecca goes on about the gossip Jill had missed in the fallout of her departure.

For her own sanity and pride, Jill does not listen to the rest. Instead, she takes in the living art of the neighborhood they've entered. The rich have spared no expense in architecture and the buildings are positively gorgeous, each with tall barbed fences and polished stones. The Redfield estate is no different with two guards standing at attention behind the gate, permitting the two entry as Rebecca presents them.

Inside, there are walls covered in generations of family paintings, fine pottery from the orient, and weapons at the base of the stairs that Claire races down haphazardly.

"Jill! Rebecca! It is wonderful to have you." The young miss approaches. "We will have tea and then head to the market district for some shopping."

Rebecca chuckles, "For the annual Redfield ball?"

"But of course!" Claire laughs before turning to Jill, "Each year since the London estate opened, we have thrown a most profoundly exquisite party. That is where Billy made his first advance for Rebecca's affections last year."

Rebecca swats at Claire's teasing smirk, "It is a lovely occasion! The loveliest of the season, truly."

"And you are, of course, invited, Jill. It would practically kill me not to have you."

"No need for the theatrics." Rebecca teases.

"I will, of course, attend." Jill assures her.

"It is not for another month, but it will be a splendid time." Claire shakes herself. "Please, let us go to the gardens for tea."

Jill can hardly believe there are gardens at all in London, but the Redfields have kept up a handsome bit of nature in the back of the house. Pale flowers dance across the greens and well-trimmed hedges kiss each slot of fencing around the back of the home. The servants are finishing the settings for the ladies' tea and depart upon noticing their presence.

The three of them partake in simple conversation about books and the upcoming opera that Claire insists they attend together. Claire is adept at making arrangements for socialization during Jill's free time, planning a spar before the opera at Jill's next convenience, some five days away.

Jill would hate to admit that part of her longs to spend a day alone reading, meditating, or doing practically anything other than socializing. However, she thinks of herself back home, so anxious to escape that she would leave the property unattended. In that regard, she tries her best to think well of it all and ignore the nagging thought in the back of her mind that recalls the unmentionable which spoke to her.

She is so overwhelmed. It is almost as if God himself is testing her resolve when Mr. Redfield walks out to the gardens.

"Claire, I am going to set out for the Elliot's Estate. Is there anything you require?" The man stands at attention by the door.

Jill turns to see him and notices a rigidity surge through him as their eyes meet. Claire must respond, but Jill cannot be entirely certain as he approaches them.

"Did you receive my gift, Miss Valentine?" He asks. If Jill did not know better, she'd say he sounds very much ashamed with the hush of his tone.

"I did." She responds in equal measure.

He bobs his head slightly. "Did you like them?"

She feels her own gaze narrow just slightly, "They were… yes. Is there a reason to your nervousness?"

He looks down at his feet with a laugh, "I am on my best behavior, Miss Valentine. I should most assuredly regret it if I were to upset the young Miss Redfield."

"Indeed, you would." Claire laughs.

"I hope you are well, Miss Chambers." He says, a lightness returning to his tone.

"I am. Are you, Mr. Redfield? The blush on your neck says otherwise." Rebecca smirks.

"As vicious as ever, madam." He laughs.

"Aren't we all?" Jill can't help but chuckle. She feels the gaze of Mr. Redfield on her but does not pay him mind. "Should we not also be leaving soon, Claire? Your lofty intentions for shopping will require ample time."

"Oh yes! Let us get going, ladies." Claire stands up quickly.

"What an adventure we are about to embark upon." Rebecca rolls her eyes, standing up slowly. Claire bounds ahead of the group, leaving them meandering in her wake. Jill gravitates to Rebecca's side while Mr. Redfield takes up the rear of the group.

"I can assure you, sir, we do not find ourselves in need of an escort. The sun is high, there's not one single cloud in the sky, and I thought you'd business to attend." Jill sends her biting message towards him with only a glance over her shoulder.

His laugh is familiar, a thought that Jill tries to suppress. "Right you are, but I should very much like to do so regardless. What lovely establishments will be sustained by my capital, I wonder."

"Oh, how could I forget? Jill, my brother has offered to buy your dress as a sign of goodwill! Isn't that lovely?" Claire asks as she ties her bonnet under her chin.

Jill turns to the man in question, his smile soft and unsure. "While that is generous of you, it is wholly unnecessary."

"I believe it is the least I owe you, as I did soil your other dress with the blood of an unmentionable. Allow me to replace it."

"You need not-"

"Allow me." When they got so close, she is not certain. More than that, she does not know when he took her hand in his, accompanied by a warmth to his skin she did not notice during their prior engagement. In their proximity, she finds that he is in possession of the most startlingly blue eyes and the gaping of his mouth does not escape her notice either.

They're both caught up between the other, uncertain if they should move or sustain their pose. He's turned a shade of red so bright that painters and dressmakers alike would be jealous of such a pigment, and she feels a similar hue spreading to her ears. Finally, she removes her hand from his and takes a step back.

"If you must be so insistent… then I thank you." She looks to the floor as her face begins to cool, yet he remains stagnant.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly before forcing a smile. "I do believe that is the first time you've conceded to my wishes. Very good of you to learn compromise, Miss Valentine."

The jest is forced, Jill knows it by the tightness of his voice. And thus, she cannot bring herself to respond, nor can she raise her eyes back to his. Instead, she observes the way he flexes his hand, then listens as he clears his throat.

"Enjoy your shopping." He says swiftly. Just as hastily as he speaks, he's gone from their presence.

"Good merciful God. The two of you!" Rebecca tuts her tongue.

"What?" Jill asks, still very near breathless from the absurdity of the situation she's just endured.

"Oh, nothing… on your end, perhaps." Rebecca laughs.

Claire dawns a cheeky grin, "Indeed! And, to think, I thought Rebecca was bad."

"What on Earth are you implying?"

"In due time, Jill, you will soon discover what we already see quite plainly." Rebecca laughs once more.

"You mock and misinterpret my discomfort. I am appalled."

"Discomfort indeed." Claire melds her lips together to avoid a smirk.

"How do you mean?" Jill asks as the two girls lock arms with her, one on either side.

"There are a great many things in this life that encourage discomfort. I think you have just discovered a new one." Rebecca laughs

"New to you, at least." Claire tease.

Jill still does not catch onto their meaning as they go. However, she decides it is in her best interest to relax her mind once more and think on it no longer. Instead, she enjoys shopping with her friends, delighted by their comfort and reveling in how easily they take her mind away from such trivial things.


	9. Chance and Circumstance

By the time Jill is allotted another day off, she has drowned herself in enough theory, history, and medicinal arts to have her head spinning. She is so relieved to be sparring that day that she makes her way to the training grounds early. Relishing in the ease of meditation for a blissful hour, she recollects herself from the deepest pits of her mind.

Rebecca and Claire arrive shortly afterwards, accompanying them – unannounced of course – are Major Coen and Captain Kennedy.

"I hope you don't mind our intrusion, Miss Valentine," Billy chuckles, "But you must understand that we could not spend a moment more in suspense wondering what your battle skills looked like."

"My battle skills, huh?" Jill asks with a bemused smile. There's a rustle of nervous chuckling followed by silence after she's spoken.

"Well, go on boys, who will face her first?" Claire asks.

"What a lovely day to enjoy a sensible beating." Billy laughs, avoiding the question.

"Surely not. You will most certainly leave senseless." Jill comments, prompting their laughter once more.

"From how fondly Claire speaks of you besting her, I should say I am frightened." Captain Kennedy snickers.

"Leon, I'm surprised at you. I did not think you so brave as to only be frightened." Claire teases with a nudge of the Captain's shoulder.

"Does that mean you wish to go first? With your bolstered confidence in tact." Jill smirks.

"Splendid idea, Miss Valentine! You women are always thinking." Billy takes a seat.

"Indeed we are, sir." Rebecca winks at Jill before sitting beside her intended.

"Good luck, Captain. You will be needing it." Claire comments before joining her friends.

"I do not believe I will be able to extract myself from this situation." The Captain shakes his head before removing a sparring sword from its stand. "I must accept."

"Excellent." Jill follows suit before they center themselves in the ring.

"Ladies first." He bows to her.

"I don't think you'll want to do that. I should give you as many advantages as I am able, for surely you will need every last one."

With a laugh that could rightly qualify as nervous, Captain Kennedy strikes. A sweeping, easily blocked maneuver that Jill outright balks at.

"You must not be so hesitant, sir. It is unbecoming of an officer."

"Yes, Leon! What would the lads say?" Billy calls from the bench.

"Or the Ladies?" Claire chuckles.

"I imagine it would be something to the effect of: '_how could you even entertain the notion of sparring against a woman? It is unbecoming of an officer_.'" He chuckles.

"It seems your impasse lies within you alone, Captain. Imagine me as an unmentionable. You could not bring poor Claire to endure your loss, could you?"

"Oh, yes, what if you needed to protect me, sir!" Claire laughs.

He sighs at her words, "Very well, Miss Valentine."

This time, he attacks with great force and Jill is exhilarated by the contact. She swiftly dislodges their locked swords; then, with precision and agility, she twists around for another attack. The Captain does well, considering his initial hesitation. He stands a firm ground and does not relent even when he is disarmed.

"Do you yield?" She asks.

"Certainly not. I believe this battle has taken its natural turn." He laughs, holding up his fists.

Jill tosses away her own sparring sword and takes him on in hand-to-hand combat. Even with the time she has spent away from the craft, she approaches each movement with serenity. Like rainwater returning to a stream after a draught, all is as it should be in the world. This is especially thus when she manages to take down the Captain.

Dodging his fist, she pulls herself into a handstand, grasps his head firmly between her ankles, and flips him onto his back as she comes to stand. He's breathless and shocked on the floor as she walks away to give him space.

"You are a worthy opponent, Captain." Jill compliments.

"Give him some time, Miss Valentine. I think you may have nearly killed him." Billy laughs.

"Indeed, you are a warrior, Miss... how on God's green Earth did that happen?" Captain Kennedy remains on his back, evening out his breath.

"Simple things, really. Being born into the right family at the right time." She chuckles.

"I can't wait to see how she beats you, Billy." The Captain sits up tentatively, Claire coming to kneel beside him during the process.

"I can hardly wait either." Billy shakes his head.

"Come now, Major, you can't be nervous in the face of such a worthy challenge. You must avenge the Captain's honor." Rebecca teases.

"Absolutely, madam." He leans close to his fiancée before turning to Jill. "Do you require a second of rest?"

"Thank you for the offer, but I for one feel quite refreshed." She winks at Leon who unabashedly leans against Claire for stability.

Billy laughs, "Very well, let us see what surprises you still have."

"The surprise, sir, is that I am ruthless." She informs him with a tip of her head.

"God help you." Leon comments as he takes up Billy's former seat.

It's such a lovely pursuit, besting men who are bound to be the military's finest in the near future. Jill feels such a thrill watching Billy struggle to keep up with her footwork during their own spar. He's a much bolder opponent, agile and strong with each attempted blow. She imagines this must be what his dancing is like and thinks Rebecca to be a very lucky woman.

The Major, too, lies in a heap on the floor once Jill has conquered him. She smiles gently at his bated breath.

"Brava, Miss Valentine." Captain Kennedy laughs. The ladies applaud her victory, an activity that Billy joins, albeit dejectedly and from the floor.

As Jill looks towards her entourage, she finds Mr. Redfield sporting a sly, cool expression as he applauds alongside his sister. When he entered, Jill does not recall, but he stands there, leaning ever so slightly against the wall. Looking cool and composed, but there is something more behind his eyes, something Jill cannot name, but would very much like to call it passion.

"Indeed, an excellent production." Mr. Redfield says.

"I aim to please," she snorts, "Do you require assistance, Major?"

"I will require a moment to collect my pride, but once that is ferreted away, I should be alright. I do thank you for the gesture." He rolls to his stomach before coming to his feet and bowing to her.

"I believe you've no pride left to stow away, darling." Rebecca stands to receive the dramatically hobbling soldier.

"Hush, dear, and indulge my delusions." Billy jests.

"Well, go on then, Miss Valentine. Spar the master of this arena." Captain Kennedy insists, patting Mr. Redfield's shoulder as he moves to allow Billy the seat.

"Hardly a master." Jill folds her arms with a scoff.

"Oh? I am a well-trained warrior, I assure you." Mr. Redfield chuckles. "Though, perhaps it is far too dangerous for our observers, should we get into a brawl."

"I don't brawl, Mr. Redfield. I'm amazed you'd think a lady capable of such a vulgar thing." Jill smirks.

"Vulgar, madam? Absolutely not. I'd never dream of it after seeing you take down an unmentionable in one motion." He assures her, stepping ever nearer.

"And you still chose to torment her? After seeing such a show? My, Mr. Redfield, I am assured with each passing day that you are mad." Captain Kennedy snickers.

"Mad I may be, but it would indeed be an honor to test your skills." Mr. Redfield keeps his attention on her.

"She is most assuredly not the one being tested." Rebecca intercedes.

Jill shakes her head with a laugh, allowing the silence to settle.

"Are you saying you will not face me, then? I'm surprised that you should reject such an opportunity to give me the beating I so richly deserve." He approaches once more and she instinctively steps back. The man has a tendency to advance on her far too quickly and she's in no mood to deal with the consequences of such an encounter.

With a fold of her arms, Jill sizes him up, "I thought that ladies were meant to indulge in the finer things, Mr. Redfield."

He returns her words with a grin, "Is there no finer thing than the art of war, Miss Valentine?"

She takes in a long breath, calculating her answer, "Very well, with or without weapons?"

"Give him a fair shot!" Claire calls from the sidelines, a laugh in her tone which sounds tight. She is rightly nervous that this could escalate, but is not about to disrupt the fun of it all.

"Indeed, I will be needing as much help as possible." Mr. Redfield laughs.

Jill tosses him one of the sparring swords and takes up the other for herself, "In that case, your move, sir."

He cocks his head at her before beginning his orbit around the ring. The pair performs two revolutions around each other before Mr. Redfield commits to his first act, lunging aggressively towards her leg with the sword. It's a move that she deflects without so much as a blink. It takes but three clashes of the sword for them to recognize that their current situation will lead to nowhere.

Thus, Mr. Redfield takes the opportunity to back away, hoping to steer the tide of their engagement. She does not follow, observing the way he takes his steps. He's flat footed and rooted to the ground. It is during her observation that he attacks once more, clipping her wrist only slightly, but enough for a sharp sensation to jolt through her.

She does not let on to such a thing; rather, she performs four blind swings of her sword. He eagerly attempts to counter them until he feels the rhythm of her movements, letting down his guard. She takes her chance to swipe the wooden blade across his chest. Undeterred, Mr. Redfield steps back after receiving the blow and then attempts a similar maneuver to her abdomen.

Jill counters, catching the edge of his blade and redirecting his momentum so that she has another opportunity, this time at his back. She lifts her foot and gives a – fairly restrained considering who her partner is – kick. He maintains his footing and rises after three steps away.

"Are you baiting me?" He asks with a laugh.

"I am sparring. What are you doing?" She asks before he can lunge once more. This time, she locks their blades and moves to disarm him. Sliding her blade to the hilt, she undertakes his own, twisting his wrist in such a way that elicits a hiss from him.

In possession of his blade, she turns towards him, making a show of tossing both away. He grins at her instance and so begins the arduous parade of them circling one another, attempting a strike, and returning to their position. It takes so long to break the cycle that even Jill becomes bored of it.

Mr. Redfield strikes with a fist, one that she grasps and pulls downwards. Restraint still intact – this is only a spar, after all, and in the presence of friends – she jerks her knee to his chest, earning a stuttered breath at the contact. Using his own bent knee, she steps over his shoulder and brings him firmly to the ground.

She releases his hand and begins to walk away, "Either you intend to insult me or you severely underestimated your own abilities."

He smirks as he rises to his feet, "I could never dream of such a venture."

"You mock me." She turns to face him once more.

"Am I?" He asks, bolstering himself for another attack.

She narrows her gaze at him. Sensing the escalation of their duel, Jill takes a moment to prepare for the way he charges at her. She side steps, allotting just enough space to allow him to barrel pat her, but he takes a hold of her hand in the process. Allowing his momentum to drag her just behind, she waits until he slows down. Then, she turns around and throws her leg towards his face.

He deflects the kick upwards, causing her to spiral, but not to fall. Rather, it is with great ease that she continues her assault the second her foot returns to the ground. Leaning low, she throws a jab to his gut so that, when he grabs at her wrists, she can move into another backflip. Sensing her strategy too late, he releases her hand but receives a blow to his chin.

It's a second of victory she does not take; instead, she follows through with the motion and rushes towards the nearest wall. He follows after her, not a thought spared to how she might be strategizing. As he approaches, she uses the wall beside her, taking two steps up and flipping over him. She pushes his head down towards the ground as she soars above him.

He lands with a thud as her feet touch the floor, hardly a sound to herald them.

Pivoting sharply towards him, she asks, thoroughly unperturbed, "Do you yield, sir?"

He looks up at her, half-bemused, half-competitive as he speaks. "I'm not the type."

"Give up, Chris, before she kills you!" Rebecca calls.

"So be it." He chuckles as he stands, "What a death that will be, at the hands of the most beautiful woman in London."

She bites down to fight off any arbitrary comments. He's quite lucky she hasn't killed him yet. God knows she's had ample opportunity to commit such an act. Perhaps even the man before her is aware of such a thing and chooses to test her self-control.

She takes advantage of his slight to rush and startle him, prompting six consecutive – albeit sloppy – attacks from him to avoid further humiliation. There is truly no greater motivation in this world than avoiding disgrace.

Somehow, he overwhelms her this time, taking her to the ground much like a common street fighter would. He takes a firm hold of her wrists and she's nearly appalled by their position. However, she will not let such a thing offend her. This is the kind of duel she's not had the opportunity to partake in for some time, the kind of spar with little care and a serious enough opponent.

It is with a buck of her hips that she throws him off his center, a reaction which eases his hold on her wrists and allows her to use her elbows as a sort of catapult.

He falls to the side as she rolls from her back to her hands and feet. In turn, he grasps at her ankle, much in the same way his sister had attempted weeks prior. The irony is not lost on Jill as she changes her tactic. He pulls her sharply towards him and she relents by jumping closer. This gives her time to kick her foot against his ear, a move which prompts him to release her once more.

He rolls to his stomach both in surprise and in an attempt to stand. Jill gives him but a moment to breath. As he rises to his feet, she sweeps his leg out from under him. The action forces the man back down to the floor. Mr. Redfield barely manages to catch himself as he falls and Jill moves to grasp his neck.

"Shall I ask again?" She asks.

He chuckles in her grip, "I believe I am in a position to negotiate."

Suddenly, he reaches back and grasps her legs, allowing his weight to fall back as they topple over. Her left leg pinned beneath his body, but soon, she has sprung herself up and over. One leg remains trapped beneath his weight and the other straddles his shoulders.

"Are you still?" She gives him a smirk.

"Indeed!" He has her waist in his hands and lifts her up enough to give him room to stand. Once he has, however, she kicks his ribs, prompting him to release her.

"Christ, you play dirty." He takes a moment for breath.

"I am a warrior, sir, lest you forget." She spins around and kicks him square in the chest, forcing him to stumble backwards.

"Never, madam." He manages once he's regained his footing.

They meet in the middle once more with him throwing punches and her holding them in the places they were presented. He attempts to twist her arms so she uses their strength to hold her weight as she jumps and plants both of her feet directly to his stomach. He falls down as she lands on both feet, poised above him before dropping low and jamming her knees into the pit of his arms.

This maneuver causes him to cry out.

Jill tests again, "Will you endure yet more?"

He gives her a smile even as their group of their peers begs him to concede.

"Very well, Miss Valentine. I know when I am beaten." He lets out a brief sigh of relief as she removes herself from him.

"Somehow, I find myself unable to agree." She comments, watching his chest rise and fall as he recovers.

"Such a delightful exhibition of your talents, Miss Valentine. I will always remember it." Major Coen remarks.

"Indeed, the day a woman tore all three of you from your higher ground." Rebecca teases.

"I should be surprised to find if you are not black and blue come the morning, Chris." Claire laughs gently, approaching Jill as if her presence will upkeep the pair's truce.

"Do inform me if such a thing comes to pass." Jill smirks.

"Be content to know that you will receive a missive no later than the afternoon." Claire returns the expression before turning towards her brother, "Come now, let us be assured you've no injuries."

Mr. Redfield sits up, "Leave me out, Claire. I am quite fine, I assure you. Miss Valentine showed admirable restraint in not lobbing off my head in the same manner she would an unmentionable."

"Indeed, there were many a time I wondered if she should break your neck." Claire chuckles.

Once Mr. Redfield is on his feet, he faces Jill, "Your skills are beyond reproach. It was an honor."

She's very nearly taken aback by the compliment. Still, she bows to him in like. "You were… a decent opponent."

"Decent, madam? He lasted three times as long as Billy and I!" Captain Kennedy laughs.

"She need not spare my feelings. I know her meaning." He catches her eye before laughing again, "This was a most refreshing humiliation, one that will sustain me in battle, madam."

"I should hope not. I should hope that you instead win." She manages a challenge in return.

"In any case, let us depart. The theatre waits for no one." Claire insists, ushering the two of them apart.

Jill gives one last glance over Mr. Redfield before agreeing to depart. Contrary to her own stubbornness, she is quite tired from such an excursion. As she lays down for a mid-afternoon rest upon her return home, she can't scrub away the image of Mr. Redfield smiling beneath her weight.

What an odd thing to remember.


	10. The Untrustworthy City

It is an unfortunate truth that over two months have passed since Jill's initial arrival in London, with little advancement towards a vaccine development. Jill is particularly affected by the lack of progress on the project and, in spite of her better judgement, she begins conducting her own investigation. With the image of the Christ lamb still stuck in her minds eye, she begins to scan through bible passages in the hopes of discovering something. Anything.

Armies of the undead are quite common imagery in the holy text, however, and unless Earth has suddenly transformed into hell, she's no idea where to go next. With resignation, she sorts through reports of soldiers that lend no hand in her vendetta against the undead army.

Rebecca approaches her desk out of the blue one particularly frustrating afternoon, with a soft chuckle and a smile to match.

"I do hope you are ready for the Redfield's ball, Claire informs me you've not spoken to her in over a week."

"It is a regrettable truth." Jill sighs, "I have been otherwise engaged by our work here. But, rest assured, I will be in attendance."

"She will be delighted to hear of it." Rebecca smiles.

"I am delighted to indulge in such an affair. I fear, otherwise, I may be far too invested in this task."

"Somebody has to be, you hear the way the General and the Doctor revel in quarreling all day. It is positively untoward."

"Indeed, I fear with these two at the helm of our endeavor, we may never find a cure." Jill rubs her temple with a sigh.

"Have courage, we will most certainly discover it. If it takes God himself dragging us across the finish line."

The two ladies share in a laugh, a rare treat in the chaotic Umbrella, and are promptly interrupted.

"Miss. Chambers!"

"Mrs. Birkin." Rebecca nearly gasps.

"I did not realize I was hosting a tea party, otherwise I would have welcomed the undead to feast among us. Or, as it were, _upon_ _us_." Mrs. Birkin has an aura of anger surrounding her, from the ire in her gaze to the wrath of her tapping foot.

"I apologize, Mrs. Birkin." Rebecca's voice practically trembles as she speaks.

"We don't need apologies, we need a cure, and your dalliances are obstructing that goal." Mrs. Birkin scolds ruthlessly.

"Yes, ma'am." Rebecca looks to the ground.

Mrs. Birkin claps at her, as if Rebecca were a dog in need of training, "Back to work with you, there's no such time for idle chatter."

"Yes, ma'am." Rebecca scurries off in an instant, though Mrs. Birkin stays behind.

"You are Miss Valentine." She says, looking her up and down, something akin to disgust in her gaze.

Jill stands from and rounds her desk, so that they are equal in stature.

"I am."

"There's a rumor going around that you believe the unmentionables are thinking." She says.

"Gossip is hardly a reliable medium of information." Jill counters.

"Hah, you are as simple as country girl come with a line like that." Mrs. Birkin folds her arms.

"I can assure you, that even if I were simple, there would be many worse insults I could endure." Jill holds her ground.

Mrs. Birkin looks at Jill in a probing observatory manner, "Indeed."

"Is there anything you require of me, or do you just seek a stimulating conversation?"

"I have plenty of friends for such a task, I mean to discover what it is you are truly doing here."

"I am here to help find a cure."

"You are here to stir up trouble."

"There was trouble enough here before my arrival. I have done nothing to encourage the behavior that your husband insists on exhibiting." Jill provokes an offended twinge in Mrs. Birkin's gaze.

"You have been no help, nearing your third month here and no developments. Were you a man, you'd have been dismissed by now."

"If it is my womanhood that sustains me, then what sustains you?"

Mrs. Birkin lifts her chin, "My tolerance."

"Is that so?" Jill feels the corner of her mouth lift at the idea.

"I have a suggestion for you, Miss Valentine." Jill retains her gaze, locked with Mrs. Birkin as she speaks, "You are looking to the wrong entity, surely, a warrior as studied as you would have figured that out."

She leaves then, Jill stuck in a stupor as the other woman walks briskly away. It is only mere moments that she has to process what the doctor's wife has implied before Jill is jolted back to reality.

"Miss Valentine." General Wesker approaches her, tone harsh as ever before.

"Sir?"

"What are you doing, speaking with women who are not in your sector?"

"I-"

"We do not have time for you to be so dumbstruck you cannot speak. Answer me!"

"I was approached and I was uncertain if she had something for me to work on." She responds.

"You do what _I_ ask you to do, no more no less. Do your work as you are told to do it, am I understood?" He asks with a snarl.

She finally meets his gaze, "Yes, sir."

"Carry on." He storms off to unleash his wrath on another unsuspecting victim no doubt.

After taking in a deep breath, Jill retakes her seat noticing a document atop of her previously abandoned work. Lifting it tentatively, she recognizes it as a redacted missive all of its text blacked out, except for one suspicious bit of text.

_Mark 13:22._

Jill is quite taken aback, both by the presence of this note and her inability to recall such a verse from the gospel. She would hate to be unproductive – moreover, she would hate to have any further dealings with the General – so she pockets the missive for later and returns to her work. Although she is quite unable to place her full attention on the tasks before her.

Her attention had already been struggling, between the difficulty of the work and her excitement at the idea of another ball with Claire but two days away. Now it feels a positively inconceivable task. She must remind herself, that in a world of walking dead, nothing is impossible; and as such, she sets to her business as ever before.

Upon returning to the Winters' estate for the evening, Jill has every intention of taking her supper in her room. It is quite the surprise that she is greeted at the door by Mr. Winters instead.

"Miss Valentine! I am very sorry, I had thought you were my wife." He looks disappointed, but Jill is more concerned about the absence of his bride than his response to her.

"She is out?" Jill asks.

"Oh, yes, apparently she's spent the day with some friends, but the hour rather late… as I'm certain you are aware… I need not trouble you with such things."

"It is no trouble, sir, I care for Mia greatly. I have noticed her acting strangely as of late."

"So it has not passed your notice, either." He sighs, "Come, let us discuss this matter further over a meal."

She is about to refuse but finds herself far too intrigued to reject the offer.

"Certainly."

The two of them take their seats at the dining table and once the servants have left their presence, Ethan speaks.

"I have thought it strange how she has spent so little time in the estate over the past few weeks. In all our marriage she has been quite the homebody, I must confess. It is odd to see her so actively engaging outside of the home."

"Is there anyway that you can easily explain such a phenomena?" Jill inquires.

Ethan's shoulder's drop, "I had thought… Perhaps… Our union had left her feeling stifled. That indeed, your presence and socializations could have spurred her to be more active within our social groups."

"But you are unconvinced of this?"

He sighs, "I am undecided… I should not be telling you this, but perhaps as a woman you can lend me your insight."

"I will do what I am able." Jill promises.

"A few days after rescuing Zoe from her appalling circumstance… my Mia suffered a terrible miscarriage."

Jill hasn't a clue where he's going with such a statement but she nods.

"I would have never guessed you experienced such trauma, Mia is so spirited and lively."

"Yes, I will not call her disposition a farce, but it was an ordeal for her. She was never the same afterwards, she stopped calling on friends and did not want to return to our families in the country. Even when her mother died, she insisted we stay in the city. I fear it is the shame of such an occurrence."

"So, she could be attempting to finally return to society, you are saying." Jill tries to discern his meaning.

"I don't know." Ethan shakes his head, "I have a feeling it is much darker than that."

"What brought you to such a conclusion?" Jill asks.

"It was some years ago, when we first met the Birkins… And after your welcome dinner at the General's home, where we became reacquainted, her interest in leaving has suddenly increased."

"The doctor and his wife…" Jill thinks back to the missive in her pocket, to Mia and Zoe's hushed conversation, and of course her encounter with Mrs. Birkin earlier in the day. Is there anyway that Mia and Annette are plotting something?

"Yes, I have heard nothing but poor things about that couple. Dr. Birkin is the vilest beast Hades could have ever envisioned, how his wife tolerates him I'll never know. Though, in her own right, she too is a vicious creature."

"What do you know of their character?" Jill inquires, raptly absorbing each word he speaks.

"Dr. Birkin was educated at Oxford, Annette is the daughter of a professor of sciences there. A few of those who knew them before have speculated it to be a marriage of convenience. Dr. Birkin had intentions of becoming a professor of new scientific theories before being called to serve the King. Some say he brought his research with him, though I don't pretend to understand what kind of research that was."

Ethan taps his glass in thought, "They are not particularly close to anybody in the city, they've a young daughter, Sherry. God only knows how they managed to conceive but I digress. They spend hours upon hours in the umbrella research facilities. Though gossip along the grapevine begs to differ such a thing on Annette's end."

"That she works much?"

"That she works at all, apparently she tends to disappear for hours at a time. No one is certain where she goes off to. Some speculate an affair, I do not believe the woman has such a want in her heart for affection of the male variety."

Jill responds, "You think Annette and Mia are meeting in secret. But for what purpose?"

"I know not, it is my suspicion that it has something to do with the doctor. He is a most unsavory character and I would not be surprised if they were attempting to have him committed."

"Does that process typically take months?" Jill asks.

"That is precisely why I am at a loss." Ethan sighs. "It could all be a coincidence."

"You do not believe such a thing, however." Jill presses the issue.

"It is all so strange, is it not? Such a strange series of related events if it were."

"You know no more on the subject? That perhaps Mia and Annette are in two separate worlds?"

"Indeed they are, but I wonder more of the doctor, if I were being honest." He admits, "The man is brilliant and yet he drags his feet on the cure. He has gone into fits of rage and destroyed documents pertaining to the research, he fires totally competent physicians, and I have heard that he tampers with test results. Granted I have heard such tales from disgruntled officers, which could just be gossip, but I've no reason to doubt it."

"What could he hope to gain from such a venture?" Jill asks more to herself than to her host.

"God help me, I think he may be a conspirator against the crown."

"That is quite the accusation."

"I more believe that his vendetta is against mankind. He is truly paranoid, but I cannot begin to understand why. And why would he hope for the success of the horde?"

"You have thought much on the matter."

"I have. It is a most lamentable consequence of finding myself alone."

To be perfectly honest, Jill has never seen a man show such emotion or affection towards his wife. How his gaze drops low at the mention, the worry in which this conversation has taken place, and at the head of it all is his deep love for Mia. The whole affair makes Jill's heart ache with the idea of such tenderness. For a single moment in time, she wonders what it would be like to find herself in a love like that.

Even her own parents, who's love ran deep throughout their lives, had kept the intimate parts of their relationship private. To see Ethan care so deeply for his life partner, Jill thinks very highly of him.

The only response she can manage is a soft, "I understand."

He nods to her and for a moment they've a mutual understanding between them. Something strange is going on in this city, and somehow, Mia has become involved in such a thing. Whatever comes, Jill and Ethan have a similar goal, even if they do not recognize what that may be.

Just as Jill is about to commence another slew of questioning, Mia waltzes into the dining room.

"Oh my! I am deeply sorry for my tardiness." She rushes over to the table and kisses Ethan, still breathless from rushing back home. "If I had known we were having supper together, I'd have watched the time more closely."

"It is quite alright; Ethan and I get on well." Jill assures her as Mia sits beside her husband.

"Are you ready for the Redfield's ball, Jill? Your dress arrived earlier this afternoon and it is quite splendid."

"Indeed I am." Jill and Ethan share a glance as Mia begins to eat. "It will be most interesting."

"Yes of course it will. The Redfields are excellent hosts, aren't they, dear?" Mia turns to her husband, if Jill were one to speculate, she'd say Mia's got a taunt in her eye. As if she's testing him for an answer.

"The Redfield's ball is second to none, and exclusive, you should be honored to have received an invitation, Miss Valentine." Ethan's voice holds back a sigh as he speaks.

"I am honored and humbled by Miss Redfield's friendship." Jill responds.

"And that of Mr. Redfield, no doubt." Mia chuckles.

Jill shakes her head in good humor, "I do not see him as a friend, Mia."

"As you should not." Mia gives her an incredulous smile as she sips her wine.

"Might I inquire what you mean?"

"Is it not obvious, Jill?"

"Apparently, it is not."

"Well, let us leave it off at this. Mr. Redfield's feelings towards you are not those commonly associated with friendships."

"We are in agreement, tolerance is not a quality of friendship."

"Then you must not have many friends." Ethan chuckles, receiving a batted hand from his wife.

"Oh, you!"

"I should be heading to bed. I have only one last day of work before the ball, I am in need of my rest."

"Of course, Jill. Sleep well." Mia nods.

Jill rushes off to her room, with the door shut firmly behind her, she lights a few candles and readies herself for bed. Instead of reaching for her journal, however, she reaches for her Bible and flips to the gospel of Mark:

_For false Messiahs and false prophets will appear. They will perform miracles and wonders in order to deceive even God's chosen people, if possible._

They are underlined already from previous studying no doubt, but why should this one in particular stand out so? The other passages around it give no indication and she feels very nearly defeated.

Until, of course, she notices the way the light of her candle flickers against the missive. When held just so, the light revels a precious few other words. Jill lifts the page to the flame, turning it and noting the words in the order they appear. Most of the document is illegible still, but what she has written startles her.

_Believe, He is, No Lamb, Indeed, Mark 13:22, Shall End, Action, Yours A.B. _

She stalls, breath falling uselessly out of her mouth, "There's no conceivable way…" She reads the passage over and over again, unable to believe such a notion.

If Jill has interpreted these words correctly it can only mean one thing. Even as she flips through the pages of her bible, grabs onto the broach of the undead, and tries to wrap her head around any other possibility. There is no denying such a twist of fate.

The doctor's wife has predicted the end of days, the Anti-Christ finally born to earth and taking up arms against human kind.

Jill looks to the heavens and wonders how God could have abandoned his children so.


	11. Entanglement

It is a mystery to Jill how she manages through the next day in the umbrella without speaking on Mrs. Birkin's suspicions. All she can do is remain at her desk, quiet, resolute, her head down deep in the documents put before her. Without such menial labor, she would surely storm her way to Annette's desk and demand an explanation.

It is nothing short of a miracle that she returns to the Winters' estate before she can expose her theory. Once safely in her own room, she attempts to reason through the mass of thoughts she has in her head. Scrounging around for any conceivable way that the end of days is not upon humanity.

Perhaps there is a pretender among them, a false prophet who thinks far too highly of himself. An inflated ego that presumes himself the bringer of darkness. The doctor seems to be a likely candidate for such a role, thinking that if he stalls a cure he will usher in the end of days.

Mrs. Birkin's speculation could be wrong, as well. There could be no Anti-Christ at all, she could merely be looking in the wrong direction for an easy answer. Deception of the self, the eternal solution to any problem, the answer which would be so easy for Jill to accept as fact.

However, the worst idea that she cannot shake away, is how right Mrs. Birkin could be. Jill's own father felt desperation enough for mankind's situation to send her in his stead to search for a cure. What a sorry state they have all entered, to even entertain the thought of apocalyptic reality.

Come morning, she manages to stow away such thoughts, being well aware that mental exhaustion will not lead her any closer to the truth. Instead, she spends the morning alone, distracted with a lovely little book gifted to her by Claire some time ago. Even knowing this bit of literature is but a distraction, she enjoys the quite hush of her mind immensely.

So far away has she been transported, she very nearly forgets the hour. It takes a servant questioning her preference for bath soaps that spurs her into action. Claire would be cross with Jill should she be tardy, or worse yet, forget the event entirely.

Once she's washed, she sets to the task of dressing. Claire had absolutely reveled in picking fabrics during their shopping, so much so, she practically designed Jill's dress for her. Not that Jill had been bothered, the opposite in fact, she is used to her mother acting as the purveyor of her wardrobe. Between Claire as her friend and Mrs. Valentine, Jill will never need to worry for her fashions ever again.

Claire had gushed over one particular purple fabric and insisted that it complimented her own pink dress so marvelously it would be a sin for Jill to wear anything else. While Jill had not given the theatrics more than a nod, she did agree that the rich purple was gorgeous. So divine does she feel in it, any remnants of Mr. Redfield's coin soiling the experience dissipates from her mind.

Mia and Ethan are dressed so exquisitely Jill nearly does not recognize them, but they are warm in their regard of her as ever. They are particularly quite on the ride over to the Redfield estate, only upholding small conversations before returning to a placated silence. Jill does not disturb the air about them, even when the silence brings the return of those horrible thoughts.

The Redfield estate dazzles with décor and smartly dressed attendees flooding into the building. Mia and Ethan make a comment about half of London's presence, but Jill hardly hears it. This type of setting is ideal for an attack of a most disastrous proportion. In the countryside, such affairs would be defended by local paid militias in order to sustain the festivities. Seldom is there a large affair without the appearance of at least one unmentionable crashing through the windows or emerging from the scullery.

But she must not think such things, in the city they do not worry about attacks of any nature. City dwellers worry not for their bodily survival, but for the endurance of their reputations.

Jill follows her hosts into the home, finding there to be a pleasant mingling of laughter and music in the air. Ethan and Mia break away to speak with some of Ethan's employers, leaving Jill to search the crowd for her friends.

She happens upon the Colonel and his wife, greeting them civilly.

"You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Burton. And it is wonderful to see you of out the Umbrella, Colonel."

"My sentiments precisely, Miss Valentine." He raises his glass to her.

"Have you been here long?"

"Oh yes, we came as soon as the girls were occupied by their governess." Mrs. Burton chuckles.

"If you are looking for Miss Redfield and Miss Chambers, they are engaged on the dance floor, I'm afraid. The dancing has yet to begin, still, they were quite insistent to partake in the first of the night." Colonel Burton explains.

"I am surprised at you, Colonel. What if I had sought out your company?" Jill chuckles.

"I should, in that case, refer you to a doctor." He laughs.

Jill holds onto her smile despite the tightness in her chest at the very mention of a doctor. God help her if so much as a word can remind her of her work.

"Pardon my husband, it is indeed lovely to see you, Miss Valentine. And I might point out, that the Redfields are so busy engaging in society dances they've neglected their role as hosts." Mrs. Burton giggles conversationally.

"Is that so?" Jill chuckles in return.

"Yes of course, Claire is engaged with Captain Kennedy, as ever before. And Chris has asked Miss Burke for the first dance of the evening."

"Mr. Redfield, indulging in a dance willingly?" Jill snorts.

"Who knows how willingly, if his aim is to please his guest." Colonel Burton jests.

"I must say I am taken aback by your statements, Colonel. You treat such a thing as parties quite like a battle. The tactician never rests, I see."

He laughs, "I am sure for Mr. Redfield, it is. To see dancing as a battlefield makes such interactions simpler in nature."

"Is that so? I have never seen a battlefield so polished." Mrs. Burton comments.

"A battlefield is so rarely on a field. More often than not, it is a parlor which has the honor of hosting such intimate things as brawls." Colonel Burton chuckles.

Jill looks towards the dance floor at the couples lining up, Mr. Redfield is indeed engaged in conversation with a young woman. God help the poor girl if she must endure that.

"Please excuse us, Miss Valentine, I do believe I've spotted one of my officers making a fool of himself." The Colonel and his wife move past her, leaving Jill without even the faintest idea where to go.

She decides to move into one of the less crowded adjoining rooms, observing all of the goings on around her. When she does arrive to a sparsely populated parlor with a small display of hors d'oeuvres, she nearly drops her social persona. Certainly, despite the sweeping archway leading into the space, there would be none the wiser if she were to take a breath.

Until, of course, she spots the one person in the world she could never imagine indulging in such a function.

"Miss Valentine, why am I not surprised?" Dr. Birkin is lounging on the sofa with a nearly empty glass of wine in hand.

"Dr. Birkin, I was not aware that you are acquainted with the Redfields." She says, guarding her expression and her body.

"It seems that they are wrapped up in this city, as it were." He says it with a slur, his drunkenness is positively unsightly so early in the evening.

Jill rattles off all of the weapons hidden beneath her dress in her mind as she speaks.

"I am afraid, I'm not certain what you mean, Doctor."

He moves his position, elbows resting on his knees as he sneers at her.

"Families like this one cause trouble, Miss Valentine, much like your own."

"I take it, you know my father, in that case."

"I know that type." He stands after speaking, discarding his glass on the table. "There is something, _sinister_, in the air. Wouldn't you agree? You've got that hunter's hawk eye, don't you?"

She does not respond, merely listens to his nonsensical lecture.

"Yes, something terrible is going on, among the people we both know, love, _trust._"

He comes to stand behind her, breath so close she feels as if winter itself breathes down her neck. She moves away, turning to confront his crooked face.

"You are acting most abhorrently." She says.

"As are your hosts in this city." He teases, "And that slut I call my wife."

"You will not speak ill of my hosts or anyone in my presence, you obscene _repulsive_ man." Jill steps away from him.

"Such words, only talk, prattle. You do not know what is coming." He moves towards a wall adorned with a large painting and laughs as he goes.

"Tell me, what do you think would happen to human kind, if we all came together under one mind. Would we be half as powerful as the undead? As it stands, they are, in that regard, far and away ahead of us."

"You're insane." Jill wants to run away, but she is so enraptured by his words she cannot bring herself to.

"Insane? Not I, for I have stared into the abyss long enough, Miss Valentine." He turns to look at her, "Do… do you want to know what I saw?"

"You are positively erratic. I pray you will seek help."

"I saw its eyes. Staring back at me. As it turns out, the beast we are so furiously fighting against... It is us. It was always us."

"God help you, Dr. Birkin."

"God is no longer with us, instead we are left with… _Him_." Dr. Birkin's gaze morphs into a sullen glassy stare, "He is a most terrible leader, you will not be able to stop Him."

Jill takes yet more tentative steps, closer to the roaring sounds of the festivities. Just beyond her reach is a place of such vigorous joy she should be able to step into it, alas, she cannot. It is as if a dark veil has settled between these two places, an unsurpassable lock for which she has no key.

"I can and will halt any progression of evil in this world, should it take the blood and breath from my body." She vows.

"It is talk like that which will keep you out of their ranks. Why won't you join them? Make it easy on us all? Give into the collective conscious that will set you free."

"If it can do all that, what is holding you from such a gift?" Jill asks.

He stalls and looks around the room before laughing, "They've no need of me in such a capacity… I am already a fiend to them, I need no transformation to become such."

Jill shakes her head, uncertain what to say, do, or act upon. Part of her wants to lash out and kill him, the other wants to return home to her father and hide away from this kind of cruelty.

"Perhaps you should seek the light of God himself, Doctor. You certainly need… something."

"What could an absent God provide me?"

"Sanity, perhaps." She feels a growl in her throat.

"Perhaps."

There is an intrusion of another voice, much akin to the voice of God in her hour of need.

"Miss Valentine, I would very much like it if you would honor me with the next two dances-"

"Yes!" She turns to the voice only to meet the eyes of Mr. Redfield.

The two of them stand shocked at her acceptance, as if neither of the pair had intended such an outcome and both are undecided about the gesture.

Mr. Redfield, in his stupor, continues his proposal.

"If you are not otherwise engaged."

"I am not." Jill responds equally.

"It may not be myself who requires the saving light of God." Dr. Birkin chuckles, spurring Jill to give him one last look over her shoulder before he collapses on the floor.

"Oh!" Jill raises her hand to cover her open mouth. Her surprise at all of these occurrences nearly has her envious of the doctor's subdued state.

Mr. Redfield calls to a servant to pick up the doctor and load him into a coach headed for his home.

"Notify his wife as well, to collect him." Mr. Redfield says to the Steward beside him.

At the mention of Annette Jill feels a surge of panic, though she cannot rightly name the reason for it. Instead, she watches the servants carry Dr. Birkin out, still in awe of his utter insanity.

"You've truly outdone yourself, Miss Valentine." Mr. Redfield laughs, "Now there are men falling at your feet."

She rolls her eyes, "Such immediate apathy for a sorry man."

"Men like him are deserving of it." Mr. Redfield assures her.

"If there must be one thing we agree on, sir, that is it." She cannot stop herself from saying as much.

"Indeed… he did not cause you harm?" He asks.

"In his state, the only one he'll be causing harm to is himself."

"Naturally." Mr. Redfield hesitates before clearing his throat.

"Do you intend to escort me to the floor, sir? Or must I collect you?" She asks, the viciousness she ought to feel not quite penetrating her tone; and for that matter, her feelings are not harsh either. His presence is more amusing than infuriating, an odd revelation that remains true all the same.

"I am more than able, madam." He takes her hand in his own, leading her to the floor for the next dance.

"I must say, Mr. Redfield, for a man who laments his loathing for the dance. You have certainly partaken in such endeavors exuberantly this evening." She comments.

"You are correct, it is perhaps the consequence of good company and an _aimable_ partner." He chuckles.

"Then you are not perturbed to find yourself untrustworthy." She says it hoping yet again for an edge to her tone, one that does not sharpen as she expects. In fact she feels the faintest hint of a smile on her lips mimicking the one that graces his features.

"I would not say so, merely that my mind can be changed."

"For that to be true, you must have had a mind of your own to begin with." They bow to one another as the dancing begins, music bright and cherry with their movements.

His smile is broader this time, "I've no mind then?"

"Not one that is yours, from what I have heard, your persona relies entirely on the company you keep in a given hour." She says.

"Not all of us can be rebellious, Miss Valentine."

"Don't you mean to say reliable?"

"I meant as I said, to act as one wishes is rebellion against the order of things."

"And yet, were we all to rebel there would be no order to break." She says, gaining a look from him which could very well be mistaken for adoration.

"Do you care at all, for the opinions of others?"

"In my own way, yes. I care for a great many things. I merely do not allow opinions of any nature to dictate my own."

They move in such a way across the floor that they are parted from one another. Jill catches his eye before reuniting, he's got a way of looking at her that leaves a strange taste in her mouth. One she has never experienced before.

"If I may, Miss Valentine, I – nor do I think any man for that matter – have never seen a specimen as beautiful and radiant as you."

She bristles at the comment, skin raised at the back of her neck before she speaks.

"Might I ask you something, sir?"

"I hardly doubt I could stop you." He laughs, she notes the color in his cheeks but does not speak upon it.

"Have you ever looked at a woman and first thought of her as human? Or merely a _specimen_?" She asks, the violence she feels inside of her unable to be conveyed in her words.

He locks eyes with her as they hold onto the other's waist, revolutions so achingly slow she can feel the pull of the music and practiced steps.

"I am not like most men, Miss Valentine, I see every woman as a part of mankind. What you blatantly refuse to see, is that man and woman are in fact different."

"You are wrong, Mr. Redfield, I see that very much. However, where you see different as inferior I take different by its literal meaning. Separate, distinct, unique, varied. All of these, but not a one of them implies that I should submit to another based on the clothes I wear or my ability to bear children."

The music ends with a flourish, leaving Jill and Mr. Redfield to bow respectfully before applauding the orchestra. It is a mystery to her, why she does not feel the heat of argument in her chest after speaking to him so viciously.

She amounts it to her encounter with Dr. Birkin just previously; but is left wondering all over again how dancing with Mr. Redfield could have her forgetting such an interaction.

Mr. Redfield offers his arm to escort her from the floor, she takes the offering for proprieties sake.

"You often make assumptions of me that have mere whispers of truth. It is odd to me, that you could so easily make up your mind and never develop the thought beyond it."

"Are you saying I do not revisit my opinions once made?" Jill asks.

"Indeed, and I am quite perplexed as to how someone as intelligent as you could manage such a feat."

It is most fortunate for Mr. Redfield that his young sister approaches in the second it takes for Jill to react. Otherwise, she most assuredly would have had his head.

"I told you we have such a lovely time, Jill! Isn't it delightful?" Claire asks.

"It certainly is." Jill agrees.

She gasps, "And your dress! I was, once again, correct in advising you that such a color would be devastatingly magnificent on you! It's as if your aim is to ensure you are irresistible to the opposite sex."

Jill feels the heat of Mr. Redfield's presence beside her as she laughs with Claire. "Perhaps it is."

"Your dastardly plan is exceedingly effective. Would you not agree, brother?"

Mr. Redfield looks at his sister with a fond smile, "She is most ravishing this evening, I have told her as much already."

"Oh yes, we did see you dancing with one another." Claire teases.

"If you will excuse me, ladies." Mr. Redfield is about to depart when he turns back at the last second he is still visible in the crowd. "I will return for our second dance presently, Miss Valentine."

"It is in your best interest to do so." She agrees stiffly, sending him on his way.

"You have agreed to a second dance with him? My word, Jill, I did not think you would be so kind as to offer him such compassion."

"I can assure you, it was not my intention." Jill says as Claire leads her towards their friends.

"Was it not? Did he coerce you into such a venture? To give him your hand for not one, but two dances?"

"He…" Jill thinks upon it for a moment, "I found myself unable to refuse."

"If it was so terrible, say as much, and he will receive a thorough dressing down from me." Claire promises.

Jill finds herself speaking in a tone she hardly recognizes, "It was… an inoffensive offer."

"Oh good, I am so glad you do not hold onto your loathing of him. Tolerance is more than he deserves for such treatment of you."

Jill thinks on what Mr. Redfield said of her, that she is unwilling to budge on her first impression of him. Not that he has done much in the way of dissuading her opinion of him. Perhaps the one thing she truly seeks is an apology from the man who infuriates and challenges her at every step. One aimed towards herself and not for the sake of the sister they both adore. Would such a thing change her opinion of him? And is she really so pigheaded as he says?

After engaging in a most riveting conversation, Mr. Redfield reemerges from the crowd. Asking after Colonel Burton, Rebecca, and the others present. He then turns his attention towards Jill. She very nearly rejects his outstretched hand, but some unspoken force guides her hand towards his. Be it the spirit of her mother possessing her politeness, or the intrigue of it all; she could not rightly say which is the truth.

"Shall we continue our previous dialogue, Miss?" He asks leaving behind them a jeering teasing crowd, "I should say it was most interesting to badinage with someone so clever."

Jill finds the chuckle she gives to be much more like a breath than a sound. "Do you know such a pleasantry as silence?"

"I have heard of the concept, though I doubt very much that you revel in such a venture."

"You would be only partially correct in your assumption. I do enjoy quiet, it is a sheer travesty my mind does not account for such a luxury."

"Are you saying you would like it were I to indulge a _fantasy_ of yours?"

"You make such an innocent thing sound crass." She shakes her head before the music begins.

"I have found, that nearly all things which are innocent in nature, can be the most necessary element to its venereal opposite."

As if to demonstrate, they spend the remainder of the excursion in pure unadulterated silence. Truly, the music heralding their steps fades into obscurity; not a sound infiltrating the battleground of their gaze. Perhaps it could be said that all the other dancers and the entirety of the ballroom's inhabitants dissipate as well.

For as far as Jill is concerned, it is only the two of them in existence. Rising and falling to the power of the other until there is not a note left for them to maintain such a state of solitude.

"If I was not enthralled by the gift of quietness before, Miss Valentine, consider me sold." He says with a quirk of his lips, voice like a whisper of wind.

Left in such an uncertain condition, she agrees. "Perhaps, you've some bit of sense in your head."

He nods, seeming just as taken aback as she, and kisses the back of her hand with a gentle nature she could not have fathomed he possessed.

"Indeed."


	12. Distraction Amongst Chaos

After such a perplexing night of merrymaking, the next few days are a dull bore, even with Jill's newest leads on the horde. The Doctor's implication of the undead operating under one mind has connected many previously useless documents to one another. Of course, for now, she chooses to withhold such discoveries from the General. She's begun to notice some habits of his that strike her as bizarre and – she should even like to go so far as to say – are inexplicable.

He seemingly disappears and reappears in the umbrella as if out of thin air. She's heard from other soldiers that he has taken to policing the streets himself; however, he chooses to cloak himself in darkness, stalking the streets alone. Moreover, she cannot be certain she's ever even seen the man sit, and he yells so ferociously she wonders how he manages to keep breath in his body. By her count, with all of these intensities, he does neither eat, sleep, or even breathe, he is very odd indeed.

A week after the ball at the Redfield estate, Mr. Redfield finally makes an appearance at the umbrella. Or, as could very well be the case, it is the first time she notices his presence.

He speaks animatedly and with great passion to Captain Aiken, Lieutenant Dewey, Captain Kennedy, Major Coen, and Colonel Burton. All of whom are enraptured by the story he tells, so much is their engagement, not a one of them notices that the document in Mr. Redfield's hand catches alight with flame.

Jill very nearly keeps such information to herself, not wanting to engage in conversation with him, or any for that matter. However, it is in her best interest to preserve her livelihood, and so, as she gathers work to present to the General, she speaks.

"Mr. Redfield, in your eagerness to be loved it seems that you have forgotten the dispatch in your hand." Jill points to the flaming missive, she is undecided on whether his sharp movements are prompted by her voice or realizing the parchment burns.

Wordlessly – though heralded by a most rousing bout of laughter from his compatriots – he snuffs out the flames before observing the damage.

"I do hope it was not important, otherwise your memorization will surely be tested." She chuckles before passing him by.

"I should be most devastated to think of my life without you, Miss Valentine." He laughs in good humor.

"I believe you would be dead, twice over." She says, refusing to turn back around.

"Well, it seems you're righteously upended. As I recall, you are quite terrible in the fine art of recalling information." Colonel Burton laughs, it is the last bit of conversation she hears as she enters the General's office.

The place is an utterly disorganized travesty, there might be a desk beneath the piles of reports, but Jill has never seen it. As she's placing her own reports on top of the stack, loosening some documents so that they fall to the ground, something catches her eye. It's a simple thing really, only a name among dozens, but what is such a thing doing here?

_Mia Winters_

Jill plucks the document from beneath the pile, only to find what is attached to it is illegible, blocked out text. Even still, she pockets the document, sheer curiosity getting the better of her before she makes her escape from the mayhem of Wesker's office.

Why on God's green earth would Mia be anywhere near General Wesker's notice? Even if he knew of her, what interest would he have in a financer's wife? Perhaps it's something to do with Jill's presence, but to no end, she cannot imagine why he should care in the slightest. Even if Mia finds herself involved with Annette, why would the General care?

"Miss Valentine." Mr. Redfield approaches her work space, "My sister would very much like to know when you are next available for her antics."

"Antics, sir? I find her quite charming." She thinks that, at the least his presence is a suitable distraction, from her recent revelation.

"As do I, though I will not pretend her quirks are not so prevalent." He chuckles.

"You may inform her that tomorrow I would enjoy the pleasure of her company." Jill says evenly.

"She will be most glad to hear such news, expect a summons from my sister awaiting you at the Winters' estate."

She merely nods towards him, feigning interest elsewhere. He lingers still, uncertain what to say if anything at all. He decides to leave before such words can come to fruition, leaving Jill to wonder even more so what in the name of God Mia's got to do with any of Umbrella's business.

Upon her return to an empty home she is handed a letter from the one and only, Miss Redfield. An invitation to tea and a hope that Jill will bring the book she'd spoken so highly of. Jill can't help but be endeared by the innocence of Claire, even in her writings there is such a delicate nature to her words.

Jill sets aside the aforementioned book before producing the document she stole off of Wesker's desk earlier in the day. It is an unfortunate outcome, that there are no additional words revealed to her against the light. Her previous discovery proving futile, she strains her eyes in an attempt to catch even one word more. Frustrated and exhausted from all the effort she's expunged, she heads to bed in a huff.

The next morning she unnecessarily rushes herself out of the house. She blames her nature on the mess of her mental state, and – since she cannot outrun the fears of an overwhelming unmentionable attack – she hopes to distract her mind with good company.

It is most unfortunate that the summer warmth is quickly leaving the city, and as such, Jill's mother has sent over winter stockings and warmer dresses. Still, despite the need for such garments, Jill finds herself positively stifled by the time she arrives at the Redfield estate.

After discarding her walking cape, she is escorted up to the informal sitting room. Claire is surprised to see her so early but does not hesitate to greet her.

"Forgive the setting today, I'm afraid my brother also has company this morning. They're downstairs in the formal parlor, I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, a friendship can flourish in any place." Jill comments.

"But of course, I merely do not care for his particular choice of company today. Forgive my judgement, but from what I've heard of them, they are a particularly crass group." She rolls her eyes.

"I should trust your opinion to be well-informed." Jill smiles at her.

"If only my dearest brother felt the same way." Claire chuckles, leaving Jill to bite her tongue in response.

"Rebecca should be by soon, I know that she has been itching to share some gossip from the laboratories." Claire continues, ignoring Jill's silence on the previous matter. She bustles about the room, grabbing books and trinkets to move from shelf to shelf, perhaps looking for something.

"Did you enjoy the ball last week? We did not have much opportunity to speak, given that you were so engaged in dancing." Jill notes once Claire finally takes a seat.

"Oh, yes, I had the most incredible time. I spent so long dancing and entertaining I did not rest my head until nearly eleven the next morning." She sighs at the memory, "I take it you enjoyed yourself too, did you not? You were also engaged in quite an interesting display."

"Do you speak of the doctor? Because, I must say, that was _not_ an entertaining venture." Jill thinks bitterly of the incident, receiving an inquisitive look from Claire.

"The doctor?"

"Yes, Dr. Birkin, he indulged beyond sensibility and collapsed at my very feet." Jill laughs at the memory despite how unsettled it makes her.

"Good God! How embarrassing." Claire chuckles, "Did he really?"

"I must admit, I did not think he would be invited to such a festivity. But I did see his humiliation with my own two eyes."

Claire looks puzzled for a moment, "I believe he was invited out of sheer courtesy, my brother is not one to make enemies. Except, of course, with the likes of yourself."

Jill shakes her head, "I am in expectation of your endless knowledge, Claire, what have I missed in the last week?"

"Well, I have heard rumors of someone quite important making their arrival to London. Who could possibly be coming so late in the season? I've not the slightest idea. I have heard many a name placed in ring, but we must wait to see. I, for one, believe it could be the Nivans family, Piers has been decidedly absent from London this season and I do miss bantering him."

Claire rambles off a laundry list of small gossips she's gathered during their time apart. Jill wonders if there has ever been a time in her own life where she has dedicated herself to such things as rumors. Everyone must have a distinct talent – as it were – Claire's seems to be her ability to listen and infer. She can find information in any breath or small talk, it is truly a perceptive gift that Jill lacks.

"Oh! Did you bring me that novel we had previously discussed? I have found myself in a particularly vicious slump in regards to my reading, but your suggestion sounded most stimulating."

"Indeed… I must have left it with my outerwear." Jill stands from the sofa, "Please excuse me one moment."

"I should also find my own suggestion, I can't seem to remember where I placed it." Claire bites her cheek as she stands to survey the room once more.

Jill heads down the stairs and summons a servant to assist her with the coat room. Upon retrieving the text, she's every intention of walking right back to Claire.

However – as she has come to find is often the case as of late – she does not set to her original motive. Instead she finds herself drawn to the raucous in the formal sitting room, where the door remains open just the slightest bit. Jill finds herself stood beside the doorframe, book pressed to her chest as if to hide her presence further, she listens.

"I can hardly believe it, Mr. Redfield is practically a taken man, God help us." One laughs loudly.

"God help that poor woman." Another laughs.

"I can hardly imagine it, the eternal bachelor finding love at last in the eyes of a fine specimen." Yet one more.

"Gentleman, please, she is hardly a specimen. Rather, the finest women in all of England." Mr. Redfield's voice sends a surge of frustrated warmth to her chest. He has a way of taking the words from Jill's mouth and making them sound like his own. And how does she recall those words as her own…?

"Is that so?" One asks.

"Indeed, it must be true if he's the hope to make her his bride."

"I somehow find myself doubtful, that any woman who has him so enthralled will simply bend to his desires."

"How right you are." Mr. Redfield laughs.

"Now if only we could find that sister of yours a husband, your parents' dying wish would be fulfilled."

"Heavens no, she's still a girl." One of the men chuckles.

"How many girls do you know? For I should be interested in an introduction?"

"How do you mean?" Mr. Redfield's voice darkens just the slightest bit. Jill hasn't a clue how she can pick up on such a thing as his shifted tone but refuses the temptation of distraction.

"A girl of ten and nine years is hardly a child, Mr. Redfield, you know that. Many her age and younger are wed, some are well on their way to becoming mothers."

"My sister has every intention of taking her time on such considerable decisions as a marriage partner."

"It's not as if she's spoiled for choice." One remarks with a laugh.

"Would you care to elaborate your meaning?" Mr. Redfield's tone grows ever sharper.

There's a beat of silence, "I mean you no offense sir, merely that the young miss is an… acquired taste."

"Is that right?" There's another gap in the conversation that leaves Jill feeling practically uneasy, until Mr. Redfield speaks once more.

"I believe that you've no place here, if your opinion is such. The Redfield's do not tolerate such disgraces as yourself to dwell in our home. I must say, I am surprised that you would be stupid enough to speak ill of my sister in front of me Mr. Ashford."

"I meant-"

"To be as frank as possible, it does not matter what you _thought_. Perhaps in the future, you will attempt to think more, before making a fool of yourself, at the least it would then be intentional."

The door beside Jill swings open, barely halting before it crashes into her shoulder. Mr. Redfield walks the three men in his company to the front door without another word. She's never seen his features so stern, perhaps it is this revelation that makes her feel so enthralled by the situation.

It is times such as these that Jill wishes she could keep her mouth shut, to leave well enough alone. Alas, she was raised with the firm belief that one must endure confrontation to achieve insight. Once the last of his guests have made their exit, as Mr. Redfield releases a breath by the door Jill takes a few steps towards him.

"How is it, Mr. Redfield, that you so nobly defend your sister, but allow all other women to suffer the indignity of man?"

He jumps at her voice, confusion settling in his gaze as he processes her words. "I beg your pardon?"

"I find it perplexing how you could possibly think so well of Claire, defending her against disgraceful comments. But other women, you allow to endure such cruel treatment." She shakes her head as she processes the ridiculousness of it all.

"Is that really all you see in me?" He asks, clearly still upset by his previous encounter.

"I don't know what I see in you." She admits, "All that I know of you, is that you do not have a personality of your own. I cannot tell if you are merely vapid in nature or if you are so desperate to be liked you hide behind what will make you popular."

He narrows his gaze at her, "You are a frustrating woman."

She looks away from him, she even begins to walk away before turning back around.

"You told me that I am brash, that I judge too quickly."

"Indeed you are." He agrees, advancing just slightly upon her.

"Perhaps you are right in that observation." She relents, sparking yet more bewilderment in his features. "I will not relent to the will of others, and sometimes, I will not relent to even the wishes of myself."

Now he remains still, as if he cannot decide where he should be in relation to herself. As it stands, she sees no other option and so she continues.

"But at least I am stable in that regard, I am as I am. You on the other hand, I cannot rightly know who it is I am in presence of at any given moment. The man who hates the dance or enjoys it, the man who speaks ill of women or defends his sister. I am constantly questioning such things…"

"Miss Valentine…" He says her name but does not seem to know what other words to use.

"What I am saying, is that I have my faults – I am well aware of such a fact. But you must understand that you do as well."

Mr. Redfield finally chooses to move, slowly coming towards her. "I would be remiss to think otherwise."

There's a lapse in the conversation, one that Jill finds herself unable to sustain.

She speaks yet again, "I will not acquiesce where you refuse to exist. As it stands, I could indeed gain much from learning to change my mind, perhaps you are not totally wrong in that regard. But if I may, sir, if I am to learn evolution – it might do you some good to learn the art of holding onto your own mind."

She finds that he is far too close, that she can smell the soap on his skin and see the flecks of gray in his eyes. Yet, she cannot pull herself away from him, whatever the reason may be; she is enraptured by the proximity of their bodies.

The only thing that jars them from their sudden trance is the thud of the book she'd been holding onto. They both look down at it, just before he reaches to retrieve the fallen item she notices that he's taken hold of her hand. When such an action occurred she doesn't know, and she is quite put out with herself at her mindlessness.

"My apologies." He says it softly, timid as a child receiving a scolding.

"It is… quite alright." Jill forces herself to speak as he hands the book back to her.

"Jill! What on Earth is taking up your time?" Claire leans on the banister as she waltzes down the stairs.

"Claire! You're ruining it!" Rebecca laughs from the doorway.

Jill gasps, "Oh good God. I'm sorry, Rebecca, when did-"

"Don't mind me, darling, you were otherwise engaged." She chuckles. "Mr. Redfield, have you seen a ghost? You're looking particularly faraway this afternoon."

"I am well, Miss Chambers, thank you." He presses his lips together and Jill does her best to ignore that hitch in his breath.

"But of course." Rebecca smirks as Claire comes the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Is this the book we discussed? Celestina? It's not in French is it? I'm quite terrible at my French." Claire takes the text from Jill's hand.

"You could stand the practice then, I'm certain." Jill manages a laugh.

"You sound just like this brother of mine." She rolls her eyes, taking Jill's hand, "Come along, I simply must hear what Rebecca has been teasing me with all week! And you look so absent. I can't allow you to continue such boredom!"

"Claire, I think we were interrupting." Rebecca smirks with a fold of her arms.

"Of course not." Jill assures her.

"Then let us be off!" Claire drags Jill behind her as they ascend the stairs. Mr. Redfield says nothing as they depart, though Jill believes she hears Rebecca comment one final time before they enter the sitting room.

It's such a strange feeling to be lost in the gaze of another, Jill cannot say she rightly understands such a thing. She cannot say she is familiar with such a phenomenon, though as it were, her relationship with Mr. Redfield is unlike any other she has encountered previously. So often when she casts a man aside or finds herself in displeasure at one's company, she does not encounter them again.

Mr. Redfield is a different character altogether, and somehow, God himself continues to place him in her life. How they continue to encounter the other, to speak and contend with one another; It is truly a thing of unsustainable coincidence, if that be what has come to pass.

And what of all the other events that have so encapsulated her life? Such strange things have come to pass that she's beginning to wonder what hand has woven this fate for her. Could there truly be so much amiss that God must move about his players into Jill's life? Or is she the piece He has chosen to move about the board to bring about His victory?

Despite all of these thoughts consuming her, she enjoys the conversation of friends and partakes greedily in their entertainment. Something deep within her says to cherish such glad tidings, for something malevolent is on the horizon.

Indeed, she comes face to face with a most startling challenger some days later during her work in the umbrella.

Colonel Burton asks if she knows who is visiting them that day.

"I know not, though it is unlike you to divulge in gossip, sir." Jill chuckles.

"I only meant to prepare you." He says, mouth opening to speak, but is interrupted by the voice of another.

"Oh, Mr. Redfield, is that the Valentine girl you spoke of?" Jill turns towards the sickly-sweet voice, only to meet the gaze of a legendary fighter.

"Indeed, Mrs. Wong-"

"What a charming little brat… at least she's pretty."

Jill feels her jaw drop as the woman approaches. Mrs. Ada Wong, wife to the late legendary fighter of the Orient, she has rightly gained her moniker, The Mistress of Battle. By her husband's side she has taken out thousands of undead, some even claim that she is a fiercer warrior than the man she wed. As for the present, she wears a particularly pretty scar and devilish smile as she approaches.

"I beg your pardon?" Jill asks, voice barely at the volume of a breath.

"You're that bastard Robert's girl." Mrs. Wong says before drawing her sword, "I challenge you to a duel."

"Mrs. Wong, I don't believe that is the most appropriate thing to do." Mr. Redfield allows a positively nervous laugh to pass his lips as he attempts to stand between them. The sword does its part to keep him from interfering.

"Silence, boy, the ladies are speaking." Mrs. Wong swats her sword in his direction, forcing him to jump out of the way. She then returns the sword to Jill's neck, tauntingly. "Come now dear, you must have a voice in there somewhere, you spoke not a moment ago."

"Mrs. Wong, to take up arms against you would be to take up arms against England herself. Please accept my refusal." Jill says, tone surprisingly firm in light of the sword at her neck and the attention from all around her.

"So, you have some sense, how charming." Mrs. Wong chuckles, "I no longer represent this glorious country, Miss Valentine, no more than that father of yours. Though if you are afraid, I believe I have my answer."

"I do not fear you, ma'am. And I will not allow you to so blatantly disrespect my father."

"It is a yes then? Oh, good, I have been so bored as of late." Mrs. Wong sheathes her sword before reaching out to grab Jill's jaw. "I will see you in some thirty minutes? Come prepared to lose."

"I believe you should indulge in some humility." Jill challenges with a growl, grasping Mrs. Wong's wrist and removing her hold.

"How quaint, a brave little girl you are. We are about to have some fun indeed."


	13. Rebuttal and Retribution

It is a most strange series of events that lead Jill to the dueling ring that afternoon, the abnormality of it all does not surpass her notice. Especially as Mr. Redfield, of all people, attempts to talk her out of such a venture.

"Miss Valentine, I implore you, please reconsider this." It is all so very strange for him to attempt to dissuade her actions. Normally, he is egging her on, provoking her to act with impropriety or to argue ceaselessly.

"I will not." Jill says firmly pulling on her gloves.

The entirety of the umbrella is bustling with an unfamiliar excitement. It is something to do, entertainment to break up the monotony of such tiresome work. And it's scandalous to watch women fight, of course.

Jill hopes General Wesker does not catch wind of this excursion, she cannot even begin to fathom his rage at the waste of time.

"I'm not above begging." He says, honesty plain from his facial expression to the tone of his voice. "Consider what you've accepted, Mrs. Wong has no qualms severely injuring you."

"I'll not give her the opportunity." Jill says resolutely.

He sighs, running a hand along his jaw, "Please, Miss Valentine, when I trained with her late husband, I saw just how violently she fights. It is something other worldly in viciousness."

Jill turns pointedly towards him, "Then I will have to sharpen my teeth, I suppose."

He shakes his head, "I cannot in good conscience allow you to put yourself in such danger."

"It is a good thing I did not seek the council of your conscience, in that case." She picks up her saber and observes it closely. "She insulted my father, I cannot allow such disgrace to stand."

"But-"

"Would you allow such indignity to fall to your family?" Jill inquires.

"I-"

"I see that this may not be the wisest of decisions, but I have never praised my prudence." She insists, "If you will excuse me."

"Might I try once more to dissuade you?" He asks.

"You may try, though for all the good it will do you, such a venture is useless."

"What would your father say?" He asks.

Jill bites her lip thinking on the matter, her father… The stoic, calculative fighter would likely be disappointed by the impulsiveness of her decision. Perhaps he would disapprove, or perhaps he knows Mrs. Wong personally and has such a rivalry with her.

"My father would want me to decide for myself what is right." She decides as an answer.

"I doubt very much that he would want you to embark on such a reckless endeavor."

"What do you know of my father?" Jill asks.

"He is a more than decent man, I was honored to speak with him before my departure for London."

"On what grounds?"

He hesitates for a moment, "Do you really wish to know?"

"What sort of question is that?" She returns.

"Jill! Please say it isn't so!" Rebecca and Claire come rushing into the room in which Jill has prepared for the duel.

"You're not facing Mrs. Wong, are you?" Claire grabs at Jill's arm.

"Claire, I thought I told you that the umbrella is not-"

"Hush, Chris, I'm trying to talk some sense into my friend!" Claire swats at him.

"Please don't do this, Jill. Mrs. Wong hasn't lost a duel in her some forty years in the fight." Rebecca says sternly.

"All things must change." Jill says stubbornly.

"Good Mother Mary, help us now." Claire sighs.

"Oh, she will, eventually." Jill rolls her eyes.

"You can't possibly think this is a good idea." Rebecca argues.

"I never said such a thing. Necessary things are hardly ever good ideas." Jill claims.

"You're impossible." Rebecca groans.

"I have been trying for some ten minutes to convince her, ladies. I do not think she will relent to our wishes." Mr. Redfield says, "But please, Miss Valentine, know this is not worth your life."

"Then it is a good thing I've no intention of giving it away." Jill says as her final comment on the matter.

It's not that she wants to fight, it is that she _must_, in the past six months she has suffered the indignity of words. First from Mr. Redfield, then dressing downs from Dr. Birkin and General Wesker, even Mrs. Birkin has spoken ill of Jill to her face. Mrs. Wong will not be getting the better of her, not this time. Jill's anger has reached its peak, there is no more relenting to the will of those who would gladly see her falter.

Mrs. Wong has a stunning dueling set, not just in her ornately carved blade, her clothing is exquisite as well. She is observing the fine glimmering hilt of her sword as Jill approaches, and moves to removing her overskirt upon spotting the younger girl. She wears all black, pantaloons included, and smiles as Jill enters the ring.

"Oh darling, you don't expect me to fight you wearing such a thing." Mrs. Wong laughs, "That smock is hardly befitting of a warrior."

"On the contrary, _real_ women fight in dresses."

"Ah, perhaps, but warriors are hardly women." Mrs. Wong smirks.

"Only the ones who do not know what it is they are doing." Jill raises a brow, furry burning in her chest.

Mrs. Wong nods, still amused, "You are quite the treat. Such a pity that you were raised by a ludicrous man like Robert."

"You will _not _speak ill of my father, madam. To do so without his presence, is both unsightly and cowardly."

"Such talk coming from a little girl."

"Little is by far a delicate insult compared to others." Jill rolls her eyes, "In any case, we should hurry this along, my boss will be displeased by the delay in my reports."

"Worry not for your boss, young miss. He'll not dare show his face as long as I am present."

"The General does not care for you, I take it?"

"The General feels the opposite in that regard." She says it with a drawl that makes Jill uncomfortable. All of the reasons for such a statement to be made leave Jill with a most unsightly mental image and curled toes.

"Do you intend to face me in battle? Or do you find that your tongue is the only weapon you yield with any skill?" Jill prods.

Mrs. Wong laughs again, "There is no need for such haste, I am so enjoying our rapport. You've some bite for a woman. How I wish others were so intimate in their lashing words."

"I cannot tell if you are mocking me or attempting to throw me off of my guard." Jill states, observing Mrs. Wong as they begin to circle one another. It is as if they are embarking on a courtly dance, and perhaps, a duel is the most refined dance of them all.

"If I were attempting to do the latter, you'd be unknowing to it." Mrs. Wong chuckles, "Tell me, what was it like, realizing your father is an absurd useless man?"

Jill narrows her gaze, "I believe that you are the only absurd useless person I've encountered thus far."

"So he has not spoken of me then? Ha! Of course not, men are so determined to keep a hold of their pride. He'd never tell the stories of a woman saving his life."

"On the contrary, madam, he did speak of such a tale. My mother committed such an act." Jill does her best to keep her composure, despite the raging fire in her breast.

"Indeed? Then she would have done better to leave him to the beasts." Mrs. Wong scoffs.

"You have merely stated your opinion with no explanation, and as such, I must take these accusations as hearsay and slander."

"So quick to judge."

"So quick to speak ill of those you do not know." In an abrupt motion, Jill moves closer to her opponent.

Mrs. Wong gives her an unbalanced smile followed by a sigh. "You wish to advance?"

"You called for a duel, if it were of the spoken variety, I believe we are in the wrong setting."

"I cannot tell if your stubbornness is from your youth or if it is a gift of God."

"I could say much the same thing of your arrogance. Is it your waning years or God's insistence?"

Mrs. Wong does not appreciate the dig at her age and steels her gaze. "I will enjoy watching you too fall at my feet."

"You can certainly attempt such a feat." Jill takes in a sharp breath as Mrs. Wong finally lunges at her.

It is more thrilling than Jill would ever admit, to have permission to unleash the furry within her. She is vaguely aware of the noise around her, the crowd of umbrella workers itching to see a duel. Still, her focus remains on her body, blocking and parrying each thrust of the sword Mrs. Wong attempts.

Her rival looks unbothered by their circumstance, though Jill could swear to God himself that Mrs. Wong grunts under the weight of each movement. Usually a showman in the sparing ring, Jill feels like an animal against this woman who so easily slights her father.

Perhaps it is this anger that stirs within her, a precision even she finds foreign. But when she disarms the great master, it is as if her movements are not her own. The swing of her sword comes so easily, the sharp twist of her wrist and then the blade opposite her own flies through the air and lands firmly out of the arena. A group of scientists scrambling to avoid it like a smite of lightening.

Jill holds her own sword to Mrs. Wong's throat and snarls at her.

"You belittle the training that bests you so easily." Jill says.

"You think you've won? Are you tired, little one?" Mrs. Wong laughs, whipping around to kick Jill's blade into the air. Just as the master is about to snatch the weapon, Jill raises her own hand and smacks it out of the ring, slicing the leather of her glove in the process.

"If you wished to continue, you need only ask." Jill says it so viciously she practically spits the punch she lays to the side of Mrs. Wong's face.

In that moment, Jill has to wonder what is happening to her. When did she lose the grace and gentleness to her fighting that her father spent so long breeding in her? She's acting like a common street fighter, with the rage of the devil himself.

Mrs. Wong too seems taken aback before she rises to meet her opponent.

"Are you brave? Or are you suicidal?" She asks with a pant.

"Which would you prefer to hear?" Jill asks, equally shocked.

Mrs. Wong bares her teeth before swinging her leg towards the younger. "You should be a little less brash at the idea of defeat."

Jill stands her ground, deflecting the attack. "My courage only rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

"Courage, yes, that is what you possess." Mrs. Wong licks her lips as they begin the brutal dance of hand-to-hand combat. The comment is sarcastic at best, and Jill picks up on the facetiousness faster than she does the next attack.

"What is it then? What do I possess?" Jill begs the question daring a front flip to close the distance between them.

"The most primal attribute of a warrior, indignation."

Jill isn't the type of fighter to act with aggression, with seething rage so hot it burns within her, certainly not indignation. She is meant to be like water cool and smooth, natural and calm in the way it comes to her with ease.

The memory of her father's voice strikes her with each blow and block she engages in against the elder woman.

He'd say to her, "_What in God's name are you doing? Aggression lends itself to the enemy. Anger is a weakness to be exploited. Valentines fight with dignity, we fight with honor, and most importantly, we fight with our heads on straight!"_

Desperately, Jill grasps for practiced elegance, the kind of lightness her mother would be so fond of.

But Mrs. Wong is not a delicate fighter, she acts brashly and with animalistic tendencies. She bares her teeth with each assault, her body producing small sounds of pleasure at each bit of contact. Jill begins to wonder how any person could be so aroused by combat, a thought which actively repulses her.

There's something different about a duel, Jill decides in the fervor of combat. Where sparring holds a playfulness, a gentleness, and even perhaps a hint of loving nature, duels hold no such virtues. They are violent for violence's sake, chaos incarnate in a ring against two well-worn warriors.

It is as Jill stumbles back from a swift and simple kick of Mrs. Wong's hip – one which sends the older woman to the ground – that she sees the damage done. How Mrs. Wong's nose bleeds and the bruise which cups her jaw, the fire of revenge so distinct behind her eyes it could manifest before them.

Jill feels an odd myriad of things within her, the pain in her side, the guilt in her heavy heart, and maybe she feels a bit of contentment there too. It is one thing to feel betrayed by mankind, it is another to betray your own self.

"What's that look little one?" Mrs. Wong snickers between breaths, "Feeling defeated yet?"

"Perhaps, I am." Jill responds, the heat in her face matching that of the lowering winter sun. "Is there something the matter with such a notion?"

"Aye." Mrs. Wong stands with a smile, "You have some kind of humor to admit defeat to a wounded animal."

"You call yourself such an unflattering term?" Jill straightens her spine as the elder woman approaches her.

"I was alluding to mankind itself." Mrs. Wong states firmly, "I must tell you how disappointing it is that I have finally met a worthwhile opponent. Pity. I did so enjoy the search."

Biting back her surprise, Jill bows courteously toward Mrs. Wong. The woman returns the gesture in kind, with a smile that sparks Jill's wondering anew.

Mrs. Wong turns towards their audience, all of whom seem to be confused and disconcerted by the rapid change in tone.

"Men, take notes, you must know how many of your kind I have killed so easily." Mrs. Wong walks away after that, the crowd of scientists part for her before evaporating from the scene as well.

Claire rushes to hug Jill, it's a painful interaction for the warrior, but she makes not a sound.

"That was a most horrible display, and I will implore you to never do it again!" Claire's tight curls bob with her words, "You could have been killed by that vicious woman and – oh sweet heavens you're bleeding! Come let us wash your wounds."

Jill feels the pull of Claire's strength, and physically, she concurs with the moment. Still, Jill cannot help but leave her mind in the ring, running through each movement, the violent offenses she produced against her opponent. It's embarrassing to think on, that she could have acted with such impropriety, she does not feel accomplished. She feels as though she has wasted a great amount of time.

Could that have been Mrs. Wong's plan all along?

No, she decides, Mrs. Wong is no enemy to her. There is no rhyme or reason as to why she should trust that woman. But her heart decides it promptly and Jill is not one to rethink her own opinions.

She catches a glimpse of Mr. Redfield as the thought concludes, and she feels a shiver run up her spine. How could she be certain of such a belief against a woman she does not know? And how can such a thing exist, when she cannot decide the loyalties of one Mr. Redfield?

Perhaps… Perhaps it is time to revisit some of her pre-established opinions. Especially those concerning the woman who insulted her father, and the man who insulted herself.


	14. Practiced Arts

Some days after her altercation with Mrs. Wong, Jill finds herself in a particularly startling situation as she is presented with an invitation to dine in the lady's home. Of course, the young woman hesitates to accept such an offer. Why, Mrs. Wong could be luring her into another duel, or worse yet actual pleasantries.

Jill has been given no reason to trust Mrs. Wong or her intentions here in London. The woman could very well have a vendetta against her father, and that certainly rubs her the wrong way. The most startling thing in this whole situation is that Jill hesitates at all when receiving such an invitation. She thinks of Mr. Redfield's observation of her, how she is rash to decide her opinions and never revisits them once made.

Her first inclination towards Mrs. Wong, after their violent duel, was to trust her. She's no good reason to do such a thing, and yet her heart spoke firmly in that hour. Upon further reflection, she felt keen to distance herself from the woman altogether, the matter had been far too confusing for her to manage. Now however, she realizes that what she might need most of all, is more time to make up her mind. First impressions are, after all, terribly unreliable.

With this thought in mind, Jill gathers the courage to endure an evening out – on a working night no less – and escorts herself to the Wong estate. The house stands some four stories tall and is a breathtaking statement to behold. Looking as if it had been uprooted from mainland China and replanted in London's richest housing district, no other structure holds a candle to its beauty, opulence, and exoticism.

Jill is greeted by no less than ten servants, all of whom offer a bow and a hand to take her coat, bag, and truly anything else she could think to give over. The last maid on the line escorts her to the formal parlor, wherein, she finds Mrs. Wong sat beside a fire leering at the two men in her presence. Captain Leon Kennedy and Mr. Redfield, their presence brings is a bit of a surprise, yet Jill feels herself raise her chin as she enters.

"The Lady Jill Valentine." The little maid practically whispers the introduction. She is simply overpowered in mere seconds by Mrs. Wong standing with a flourish.

"How marvelous of you to join us this evening, Miss Valentine." Mrs. Wong approaches the young woman with a kiss on both of her cheeks and then a firm embrace.

Jill gives such an incredulous look that Mr. Redfield allows an undignified snort to pass his lips.

"Have you something to say Mr. Redfield? Perhaps a comment to our Jill?" The woman in question is again taken aback; both by the usage of her given name and the addition of 'our' in the question.

Mr. Redfield clears his throat, "Forgive me, Miss, you're looking as lovely as ever."

Jill gives a silent nod as Mrs. Wong taps her chin in thought.

"I should extend an apology, no?" She starts, "You look quite taken aback with our other guests, perhaps I might have been more specific that I intended to host more than yourself."

"Quite unnecessary." Mr. Redfield responds with a smile, "I believe Miss Valentine has grown used to my showing up when and where I am unwanted."

"Oh yes, you crop up much like the undead spring forth from the wet Earth." Jill comments with a smirk. She catches the ever-blue eyes of Mr. Redfield with her own, and startles herself with how she does not shy away from him. Instead she feels the twitching quirk of her lips mirror that of his own before she can manage to look away.

"You, Captain, I do find myself surprised to see." She pretends not to notice Mrs. Wong's laughter and Leon's raised brows towards Mr. Redfield.

"I was graciously extended the invitation by Mrs. Wong after our meeting in the Umbrella." He responds passing glances between Jill and Mr. Redfield.

"Oh yes, I did quite enjoy being surrounded by hard working boys again." Mrs. Wong's comment is punctuated with a laugh, whilst Jill's face begins to burn with shock. "That is one thing I miss about my late husband, he always brought in the wealthiest men to our home. Many of them were truly stunning figures to behold. Watching handsome men train is quality entertainment, would you not agree Miss?"

Jill is appalled by the question but avoids noting such in her response. "I prefer to be the one training, and alone if I can manage it."

"Such a pity that." Mrs. Wong notes before approaching the two young men with a clicking tongue. "And what a lack of civility from the two of you, should you not have bowed to the lady as she entered? What are you boys being taught nowadays?"

The two of them seem flustered and it is Jill's turn to chuckle at their reaction. Mrs. Wong circles back eyeing the young woman's appearance before nodding to herself.

"Keep them in line for me, dear, I must be checking on dinner." Mrs. Wong pats Jill's cheek before departing from the room, leaving the door open as if to imply a watchful eye.

"What an interesting night we're in for." Jill sighs.

"Most events with Mrs. Wong are." Mr. Redfield chuckles, "She is an exuberant woman, but you can tell there's always something going on in her head."

"I take it you've been to many of her events then?" Jill asks.

"Too many, yes." He chuckles.

Captain Kennedy laughs, "She's been a lovely host thus far."

"She tried to kill me." Jill reminds him.

"You agree to allow her such an opportunity." The Captain reminds her, "And you accepted this invitation."

Jill responds with a vicious pout, one that prompts Mr. Redfield to laugh once more.

"Come now, Captain, you must know better than to tease the lady. Haven't I been made enough of an example?"

Jill surprises herself with her lilted laughing response.

"And here I was worried that my greatest fear should be a knife at my throat. Instead it is being on the wrong end of a joke."

"You? Never, Miss Valentine, it is my sincere belief that you are always in a perfect position." Mr. Redfield smiles.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed."

"Even when I very well near snapped your neck for my own enjoyment?" She tests him, taking small steps towards him.

"If it could have provided such a response as eliciting your pleasure I should have done so with great honor. And I am quite sorry to have deprived you of it, as a matter of fact." His words are punctuated with hyperbole and it makes her laugh once more.

"As you should be, ladies have so little in the way of entertainment outside of traditional means. Since you do so hate to dance there is significantly less that you could provide as amusement."

"Actually, Miss Valentine, I am pleased to inform you of a recent encounter I was privileged to experience. During which I was exposed to the most splendid parts of the dance. I believe that my opinion on the matter has been thoroughly uprooted for the better."

Jill once more lifts her gaze towards his, their eyes meeting somewhere in the space between them, the rest of the emptiness is filled with their respective smiles.

"It certainly took you long enough to come to that conclusion. For your sake, however, I am glad."

He nods mutely for a moment before laughing. "Thank you, what really sold me on the whole venture was the silence."

She acknowledges his meaning by casting her gaze to the ground, feeling yet more embarrassment rise to her ears she spares a glance to Captain Kennedy. He's got a broad grin pinching his cheeks that is plain to see even behind the hand attempting to cover it.

Before another word can be spoken, Mrs. Wong returns with the rest of the guests for their party in tow. The instant change in mood shakes Jill's nerves as the Birkins and General Wesker are introduced to them.

She swears she hears Captain Kennedy curse under his breath, but Jill does her best to retain her own civility.

"Dinner is prepared, if you are well finished with your pleasantries." Mrs. Wong beckons them to follow after her.

Jill is escorted in by Mr. Redfield whilst Captain Kennedy is called to the General's side. The dinning room is just as exquisite as the rest of the home, with a large long table filled to the brim with food and decorative florals.

"Jill, darling, come sit at my left." Mrs. Wong holds out her hand to Jill, who responds in kind as best she's able given the uncomfortable situation.

Mr. Redfield holds her seat for her, while the General holds Mrs. Wong's.

"Don't you just adore being doted on, Miss Valentine?" Mrs. Wong asks with a laugh, gesturing for the others to take their seats.

"I don't believe adore would be the word I use." Jill says stiffly taking notice of the General's proximity to Mrs. Wong.

He holds her hand at the table, looks at her and pays no mind to any other soul. It's reverent to the point of obsessive attention paid to the woman and Jill can hardly stomach it.

"A woman like you must be treated to such pleasantries often. I believe _you_ must be unfamiliar with such interactions, Annette. What a pity that is."

Jill feels her mouth open against her will at the statement, but the shock does not stop there.

"Pleasantries mean very little when faced with actual emotion." Annette responds coolly taking a sip of wine.

"Hm." Mrs. Wong thinks about that sentiment for a moment. "And you believe that emotion is more important, yes?"

"I would rather be loved and scorned, than respected and detested." Annette responds.

"Must they be mutually exclusive? What do you think, love?" Mrs. Wong raises a hand to stroke the General's cheek a slow obvious motion that makes Jill turn her attention to her food.

"It is easy for women to have both love and respect when they know their place. It is unfortunate that only one in attendance this evening knows such a thing." General Wesker shoots a vicious glance towards Mrs. Birkin, and then a snide glare towards Jill as his attention sweeps back to the head of the table.

Mrs. Wong lets out a laugh, "Oh yes, knowing one's place is a powerful weapon to wield. Women like us, Jill dear, we can get confused so easily. How is it we can be powerful, beautiful, and civil all at once? Why, it's practically unfair! Women like Annette could never keep pace with us."

"How profound coming from the one who is content to hole herself up in luxurious homes and lock out the world's problems." Mrs. Birkin spits back at her, yet Mrs. Wong ignores her.

"Once you marry well, Jill, you'll be practically impossible to surpass in any capacity. Forgive me for interrupting your meal but I simply must see you stand beside Captain Kennedy. It would be so fitting for you to marry a military man, continuing the line of your own mother and father. Only you hold much more grace and dignity than that of your father."

Jill shakes her head, "I am sorry, Mrs. Wong, but I've no intention of-"

"That word!" Mrs. Wong laughs, "Intention is such a frivolous thing, darling, life will give and take as she sees fit. Now stand up please."

The Captain is already standing behind her chair, blushing furiously as she levels herself with him.

"Hm… Your coloring and your postures match splendidly. Take a turn about the room for me now. Go on."

Jill feels positively humiliated as she does so, surveying the party guests as she goes. Dr. Birkin looks to be halfway to sleep, hiding behind his goblet of drink, while his wife harbors a visible fury in her burning gaze. General Wesker passes a glance over the couple for only a moment, his attentive focus still on Mrs. Wong; who chuckles quietly to herself, observing their agonizingly slow stroll about the room.

Then she takes notice of Mr. Redfield, he keeps shifting his gaze between the different guests before finally landing on her. He makes something of a grimace before returning his attention to the meal.

Jill can hardly believe any of this is coming to pass, yet she cannot stop it. It is as if some sort of spirit possesses the room, the awkward inelegance of it all is practically palpable. Perhaps more so than the poorly seasoned mashed potatoes growing cold on Jill's plate as she stands before the lady of the home.

"Lovely, simply divine. Why don't you salute her, Captain?" Mrs. Wong jests.

"Oh dear god." Jill lets out the words as a breath.

Mrs. Wong laughs even louder, "Is Jill Valentine afraid of a little affection? That stiff upper lip butting into your life once more? My darling, touch is a relic of the past we mere mortals are too frightened to rediscover, but it is such a wonderful thing."

At the mention of touch Mrs. Wong caresses General Wesker's features again and guides his lips to her cheek.

"See? Still chaste, still perfectly acceptable, yet so decadent." She allows her last words the slur together.

Jill abruptly returns to her seat, removing herself from Captain Kennedy's side.

"Mrs. Wong I think that it is completely inappropriate to have such contact with a man whom I am not engaged in a courtship with, and truly engaged in any relationship beyond that of friendliness. Leaving alone the fact that he has not spoken with my father, or even been in near enough proximity for such an idea to be entertained."

"My, my, aren't we a pillar of purity." It's Mrs. Birkin to utter the quip.

"Are we again treading into dangerous territory, Annette?" Mrs. Wong asks innocently. "Perhaps this is a sore subject for you; given that you and your husband have not engaged in intimacy since the birth of your daughter."

"My martial relations are none of your concern."

Jill chooses to divert her own attention for the sake of her sanity, she glances at Mr. Redfield and Captain Kennedy who are having a short soft conversation she cannot partake in. She wants desperately to leave, but finds herself unable to beg the pardon of her host.

Even as they are ushered into the grand salon for after dinner tea and desserts, she is conned into staying yet longer.

The conversations of intimacy persist, and the change of scenery only escalates such a rapport. Mrs. Wong's hands wander along the body of the General in a most appalling manner, and Mrs. Birkin too begins to make motions towards her own husband.

Jill takes to staring out the window, hoping to invent some sort of reason to pardon herself from the gathering.

Instead, Mrs. Wong prods further.

"Miss Valentine, what has you captured your attention so?"

Quickly Jill responds, "You've a lovely piano forte."

Mrs. Wong narrows her gaze and laughs, clearly humored by the young girl whose embarrassment is unmistakable.

"You must play for us."

"Oh, I'm afraid I have very little in the way of musical talents." Jill tries to divert the attention.

"I believe that you are being modest, come now. I do so love music."

"Then do not allow me to ruin such a love." Jill chuckles nervously.

"I'm certain you won't." Mrs. Wong nods towards the piano.

In silence Jill approaches the piano, in truth she loves to play despite her lack of practice growing up. She had much preferred combat training to any other, but music was the most tolerable of her feminine trainings.

She sits at the piano and plays the first song that comes into her head. For the first time all evening, it is blissfully calm, quiet, and even comfortable in the Wong estate. There are murmurs from the sofa that Jill can barely make out, but she is grateful for the moment of solitude.

Such sweet loneliness is interrupted as she feels the presence of someone at her back, she assumes it must be Mrs. Wong who feels the need to observe her technique. Only, as she finishes her sonata, the person behind her speaks softly.

"I must confess, Miss Valentine, I don't believe I have ever heard such a sweet melody in all my years of life."

She allows the briefest smile to grace her features. "I appear to be a great many of your firsts, Mr. Redfield. Are you certain you've lived at all before our meeting?"

"I cannot be certain, no." He says.

His answer shocks her more than she'd care to mention, as she turns to face him she finds him leaning against the window sill. Mr. Redfield's eyes are gentle and his presence is very nearly soothing, something she could not have imagined herself thinking months ago, yet here she is.

"Please. Don't stop playing, Miss."

Jill can hear Mrs. Birkin and Mrs. Wong speaking, but it seems now, that they are so very far away in comparison to before.

"Tell me, Mr. Redfield, are her engagements always of this nature?" Jill asks softly.

"Many of them are worse I must confess." He chuckles.

"And she is always so… physical?"

"Indeed. I believe her late husband once told me it was a consequence of her need to be in control of social gatherings."

"It is unsightly."

He nods, "I apologize on her behalf for your discomfort, Miss. Though… I must admit that your presence has eased my own mind greatly this evening."

"Why? Because I am her newest target? A suitable distraction, perhaps?" Jill finds herself laughing.

"Because time and again you breathe new life into something that was once so difficult to enjoy." He tells her.

"And that new life is?"

"You make silence so lovely, and then fill it with something even greater." He says. The two have a few moments of that coveted quiet, even as the conversations behind them continue. When her lack of response finally becomes noticeable he laughs.

"You don't still think your musical ability is poor, do you?"

Jill takes in a deep breath before uttering her response.

"I believe my opinion on the matter is eligible to be reevaluated." Mr. Redfield's expression breaks into a grin as she continues. "I think I should attempt revisit such a thing and make more music before my opinion can be certain. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I am delighted to." He says unable to hide away his joy at listening to her play once more.

And for her part, Jill enjoys performing, perhaps for the first time in her life.


	15. To Wake in the Dead of Night

Winter is, perhaps, the most ruthless being of all – even in a world of the undead. The chill comes upon London swiftly and with no remorse for its sweeping, choking tendrils. Mia insists that the sour weather is typical of the city, but Ethan begs to differ. He claims he's not seen a winter so menacing since his days as a boy near the Scottish North. Jill can't help her wandering mind from walking down a dark path, that perhaps the shift in weather accompanies the fall of mankind.

It is oh-so easy to fall into a state of panic when there's talk of an unmentionable Anti-Christ born of Earth to usher in the end of days. And why wouldn't there be? It has kept Jill up many a night, the idea that if the world should end it will be just around the bend.

In another camp, work has made such little progress, many have spent days out of work, sick with the chill. Others have departed from the city for the winter and the end of the social season, those who remain find it difficult to continue their work being as stretched thin as they are. Jill hasn't seen or spoken to either Rebecca or Claire in recent days, they are both engaged in other pressing matters.

More and more she doubts the safety of London, and it is most unfortunate that her own predictions come true one fateful night.

The gargled groaning just beyond her bedroom door wakens her, with a vocal gasp following shortly. Overcome by instinct, Jill grabs the loaded shot gun by her window and rushes from her bed; just barely remembering to wrap herself in a dressing gown before departing into the hall.

She sees Ethan on the ground, knife in hand as an unmentionable hovers above him. Jill wastes not one second before firing on the beast, Mr. Winters tosses the newly limp corpse from his own, blood dribbling onto his shirt in the process. After a brief moment to ensure the head of the beast is properly dislodged, his body finally relaxes, albeit briefly.

"Miss Valentine! Thank you so much." He stands on his own as Jill ties her robe closed.

"What is happening?"

"I know not." As his voice rings through the air, so do screams from the street as a quiet chorus might underlie an orchestra.

"Could there be any more infected here?" Jill asks over her shoulder; turning swiftly so as to collect extra bullets from her room.

"I will check that the servant's quarters are empty!" Ethan vows rushing down the stairs.

Jill, for her part, turns her attention to the front of the home. Throwing open the front door she spots the chaos already occurring around her. How long this assault has taken place, she cannot rightly decide, but such information would hardly affect the scene before her.

There are several undead reaching through the slots of the gate, socialites running from the pursuing horde, and the orange glow of a fire burning in the distance somewhere close to the center of London. Jill has never seen more than perhaps ten undead at once and before her now there can be no less than one hundred on her street alone. There could be no worse circumstance, this is the Anti-Christ playing his first hand.

Aiming with great care, she blasts the zombies reaching their undead hands through the fencing. Then, she opens the gates and beckons for those attempting to escape. As she ushers them in, shooting zombies that dare to approach in the process, she notices that the beasts seem to be avoiding her after a fair number of them have fallen by her hand. The thinking beasts have learn who not to trifle with, she attempts as a guess.

"Jill! I can't find Mia!" Ethan shouts from the doorway, allowing the men and women entrance to his home.

Jill nods once, catching the box of ammunition Mr. Winters tosses her. They share a moment of understanding between them, as yet more screaming erupts from a few streets down.

"Stay safe!" Jill calls out.

Once the last few refugees are safely behind the gates, Jill shuts them in and hurries after the fleeing horde.

She takes the time, during her haste, to shoot as many undead back to whence they came. Between shooting unmentionables and helping the fallen regain their pace, she nearly forgets her own mission. Where in the name of all that is good and holy could Mia be?

She catches a glimpse of Lieutenant Dewey and Captain Kennedy leading a platoon down a row of houses. It is so tempting to pin the task on another, yet she resists the urge, Mia must be found by herself. Jill isn't certain she could live with herself if she were to pass off such an important undertaking.

The two men could hardly care for her disposition anyhow, as they are soon taken by surprise. When did the horde learned the art of surprise? She begins to ponder such a thing, only to be haunted once more by the words of Dr. Birkin. His croaking voice and lopsided gait as he spoke of a singular mind leading the undead. It is far too eerie a thought for her to handle, still, it is the cold is which breaks her trance forcing her feet yet forward.

The longer she runs, the thicker the conflict becomes; the army fending off the horde, blood running rampant through the streets. Jill's own boots, haphazardly strung to her feet in the haste she readied herself in, stick to the cobblestone path as she goes. Part of her wonders if she'll lose a shoe and be forced to race through the streets with one bare foot.

Colonel Burton and his men are in the middle of the horde, or so it seems, by the sheer number of unmentionables. Half of London's population might be infected and Jill would have no qualms believing it. The creatures groan and screech their ungodly agenda, the suffering of mankind's eventual fate so brazen and overt before her, she's nearly unable to decipher who is who.

It is a most startling realization, when one cannot discern the difference between man and monster. Jill finds herself lost in a sea of faces, unable to decide which are enemies, and she is duly frightened.

Then, she happens a glance over her shoulder and spots Mr. Redfield, gunning down the horde as though it were his God bestowed gift. She then takes notice of an unmentionable as it grasps his shoulder, just before the beast can bite, Jill plants a rupturing bullet to its brain.

"Miss Valentine, what are you doing out here? It's dangerous!" Mr. Redfield calls once she has approached, the sounds of battle nearly drowning out his voice.

"I can see that!" She retorts, using his idle body as a catapult to kick the head of an advancing zombie. Its neck is so weak with rot, its head pops right off as her foot swings round.

"You must seek shelter! My estate is not far-"

"I am looking for Mia!" Jill snaps at him, "I'll not be seeking safety until she is found!"

He grinds his teeth at the mention, "I will search for her, you must go to my estate!"

"You'll not do any such thing!"

"This is a battle, unless you had not heard!"

"A battle it may be, but I am uncertain what that has to do with my station! I will be searching for those I love, thank you very much!"

He shakes his head, and in the stress of the moment he allows a laugh to emerge from him.

"Wearing that?"

"I doubt very much a zombie gives any care at all to the state of my undress! Though it will do you well to avert your sinful eyes!" She manages to sneer at him amongst the chaos.

"You truly are your own being, Miss Valentine!" He directs his gaze dramatically towards the sky, laughing yet again, likely from her use of the unseemly term. Were she not so desperate to find Mia she might even comment on the irony of it all, however, she is stopped before she can begin.

"Look out!" A stray voice calls out, just before a street lamp collapses nearly atop Jill. Mr. Redfield takes it upon himself to grab her by the waist and remove her from the sight of impact. The metal crashes just where her feet once stood, fire briefly catching against the bloody street before briskly snuffing itself out. She nearly cannot breathe at the sight of it.

"Have you reconsidered?" Mr. Redfield asks.

"Release me!" She demands, giving him a hard shove once her request is granted.

Flustered by the sheer indignity of the contact between them, brief as it might have been, she bristles once more.

"Never in my life have I ever met anyone so improper as to grab a woman in such an abhorrent manner!"

"Then what is it that you call traipsing around the city of London in little more than a dressing gown?" He asks incredulously.

"I needn't call it any such thing, merely that I care far more for the safety of others than that of my own!" She gathers her skirt in her hand.

"A dangerous, yet admirable mind you own, madam!" He gives her one last cocky smile before instinct kicks in once more, jarring him back into the fight. He shoots two zombies before turning his back on her, fully enraptured with the battle.

Without another word, Jill hurries down a random path, hoping that perhaps God's guiding hand is leading her rightly. It is a terrible circumstance that she encounters, fires throughout the city to halt the undead assault, women and children fleeing the poorest districts, and of course, many falling to the horde.

Even with the army's valiant attempts to halt the creatures from pursuing civilians; the unmentionables push through, somehow it is all so much more chaotic than Jill can fathom. Jill inexplicably follows the flames, the thick smoke forcing her to cough and her eyes to water. Her skin warming with the air as she searches for her host.

It is near the source of the blazing inferno that Jill finds Mia, it is such an obscure place to find the woman, yet there is no time for musings.

"Mia!" Jill cries out, gaining the woman's attention.

"Jill! What are you doing here!?" Mia asks incredulously, cradling a crying child to her chest.

"I came for you!" Jill proclaims, barely noticing Zoe just behind Mia and another child holding her hand. "We must leave this place!"

"Indeed!" Mia looks back at Zoe and rushes in the direction Jill had come.

"What was that building!?" Jill asks as they race away.

"The East London Orphanage!" Mia shouts, bitter tears running down her face. "Somehow the infection spread to all of those poor little ones!"

Jill mutters a curse beneath her breath as they emerge from a narrow alleyway to a much larger street, unfortunately riddled with battle. The shotgun Jill wields falls dangerously low on ammunition as they traverse the battlefield the great formidable city has become, she hopes there will be enough to get them home. Without the flames of the orphanage, Jill finds the cold weaving its way through the fine fabric of her nightwear. She fights off the shivering as fiercely as she does the undead.

There are spots of quite along their trek back to the Winters' estate, however, the obstacles in their path far out weigh the peace. Jill takes to using the butt of her gun as a club, once it becomes abundantly clear this excursion will be arduous enough. Heads roll off from their bodies as the gun collides with neck after neck, Jill fears for the children Zoe and Mia rescued. What a terrible thing for a child to witness.

Jill herself was lucky to avoid direct confrontation from the undead until she was some ten years of age. Even then, there was but one beast and her father swiftly took care of the matter. If she, a hardened warrior, is startled and disgusted by the sheer volume of undead, how must this look from the eyes of a child?

Soon, she recognizes that they are a mere three blocks away from the estate, and as such she pushes the group forward. Turning back to face the monsters that have so ruthlessly followed after, she readies herself for yet another assault. Only, when she does, she finds that they are otherwise engaged. Chasing unlucky civilians and rushing towards the direction she had just escaped from.

It is the second time that night she notices their decided disinterest in her. Perhaps a third, considering her conversation with Mr. Redfield had been peaceful; though why such a thing had escaped her notice at the time she cannot rightly say. Once again, the words of Dr. Birkin echo in her ears. A collective conscious…

Jill sprints back to the estate faster than before, opening the gate as quickly as she can to allow the mistress of the house and her lady's maid entrance.

Ethan embraces his wife so tightly Jill can feel the relief melting between them. In the cold of her bones, Jill feels a warm surge of her heart. Such feelings spur her to continue her mission and collect the weapons at the front entrance of the home.

"Jill, what are you doing?" Mia implores of her once she and Ethan have spared the other of immediate affection.

"The army needs help and I will have to suffice." She says slinging two swords onto her back and loading a pistol with great haste.

"Absolutely not, no one is leaving this house." Ethan says firmly. "Not until the streets have been cleared."

"The army is faltering." Jill insists.

"This is not a discussion." He replies.

"Excellent." She skirts passed him and out the front door without a second thought.

She hears the couple calling after her but pays them no mind. If the horde is avoiding her, could she use this to her advantage? Could the undead be exhibiting the biases of their living counterparts? If so, she will exploit their ignorance as easily as she does mankind.

And should their one mind know her prowess and fear it… Well, at the least their leader is not unintelligible. For better or for worse, as it were.

"Miss Valentine!" She rolls her eyes at the mention of her name but reconsiders her judgement as she notices the man who spoke.

"Captain Aiken!"

He pulls his horse to a halt as he speaks to her, "Are you alright? The army is retreating from that very direction! If you are in need of shelter-"

"Retreat?" She asks, the pounding of her heart loud in her ear.

"Indeed, the horde is strongest to the east and south." He confirms.

She looks to her feet as she nods, "Then that is where I am needed."

"Miss Valentine, that's suicide!"

"All will be lost otherwise!" She retaliates.

"I cannot in good faith, allow you to thrust yourself into such a terrible skirmish!" He shakes his head, resolutely.

"Captain I implore you to look around." She gestures to the scene, several undead racing past the two of them, attacking soldiers when given the chance.

"I see evil alone, Miss."

"And yet they ignore us. They have ignored me."

He narrows his gaze, "I… How is that possible?"

"Never mind that, we must take advantage of such good fortune!" She proclaims, "Where did the attack begin?"

"It began at the orphanage, but the structure has burned. Why do you-"

"Is there anywhere else? Anywhere they could have come from?"

He hesitates, "The south walls."

"Take me there." She gives him no room to argue as she mounts his horse. The pair hurry towards the source of the outbreak, typically the Thames acts as perfect measure against the horde. Unmentionables cannot fight off the currents of the river and even during the still currents of dry season, as it now stands, the wall keeps them from entering the city.

As they approach, Jill can see the devastation; undead running amuck, bodies of civilians and soldiers alike bleeding into one another. The river is dark, and the horde continues to pour in from the sewage systems.

"Sweet Jesus." Captain Aiken mutters.

"Is that the armory?" Jill asks pointing to one particularly abandoned building.

"I have a terrible feeling about this." The Captain responds, spurring his horse towards the building in questions.

The two of them hurry inside, surveying the available weaponry. Jill only cares for one thing.

"Captain, here!" Jill gestures to the barrels of gunpowder, "Help me."

"With what exactly?"

"What's the only way to be rid of unmentionables?" She asks lifting a barrel, struggling with the weight of it but careless for her own difficulties.

"We've cannons, Miss. Here!" The Captain takes to lining up a couple of cannons to the windows.

"I knew I could trust your judgements!" Jill smirks tossing yet another barrel of gunpowder out the window.

She tosses five barrels out into the chaos, and he has readied three cannons for fire. The sounds of commotion have finally spurred the notice of the unmentionables. However, their attention is far too late; one after the other, Captain Aiken shoots the barrels. They spring to life, lightening with flame and an eruption of sound so deafening she should think the world were ending.

Once the waves of heat have fully consumed the pair, they are able to gaze upon their accomplishment. Hundreds of corpses burning, the riverbank itself aflame, and the horde in full retreat. They fall back into the hungry fires, screaming as they go, but curiously, none are deterred from pursuing the same fate.

"My word, Miss Valentine, how did you know to do such a thing?" Captain Aiken asks disbelieving at the sight before them.

She does not answer, her own mind unable to process the sheer volume of undead razed in the fires. How many have died this night? How many have turned? How much devastation will surround them now?

"Captain, I do believe this is the beginning of a terrible, awful fate."

He shakes his head, "You can't believe that, we have won the day."

"But what of the war?" She asks, though she's every reason to believe he does not hear her with his reaction.

"Miss Valentine, we should be getting back. Colonel Burton will be wondering after us, and indeed, your hosts as well."

Jill nods, slowly following after the Captain and still somehow unable to fathom what she now has born witness to. The straggling undead, the corpses lining the streets, the charred remains of buildings, and the mere idea that this is a prelude to the end of days. It is almost too much to bear.

As they ride through the streets of the city, once the undead have thinned to stragglers, the devastation is palpable. How is mankind meant to continually overcome such travesties as this?

"Captain! We presumed you were among the missing, thank God you are safe." Colonel Burton approaches on his own horse. "Miss Valentine? I had thought Mr. Redfield to be a madman when he mentioned you were in the fray."

"What is the status of the city, Colonel?" Captain Aiken asks.

Jill remains very much distracted by the rising sun, admittedly still listening in on the conversation of the soldiers. She's got a small hope that the light will warm her frozen hands while she tries to sort through the events which have just transpired.

"The horde is in retreat. Our men are slowly regaining control of all sectors of the city. No sign of the General thus far, we are hoping to begin cleansing the city of the undead by the afternoon." Colonel Burton must notice Jill's faraway gaze before he speaks again. "You will take Miss Valentine home, I expect."

"Yes, sir." Captain Aiken nods.

"You are not hurt, are you madam?" Colonel Burton asks.

"I am not, thank you." Jill locks eyes with soldiers, dirtied red uniforms and bloodied faces to match the fabrics. She is taken aback by how startled and truly fearful she finds herself. Fighting the undead is tolerable enough, fighting a war is something different entirely.

"Take care, Miss Valentine. Many in this city care a great deal for you." Colonel Burton says before turning back to his men.

She's no time to ponder such a strange proclamation with the mess of her own mind, so she allows the comment to exit her notice as swiftly as it entered. Wordlessly, Captain Aiken returns her to the Winters, there are a few party goers who are still exiting the house when the pair arrives. Mia stands at the door wishing their unexpected guest well and a safe journey home.

"Oh thank God in heaven!" Mia hurries to hold Jill tightly once she registers her presence. Jill revels in the comfort of the embrace, despite the confusion of her host's disappearance and the stiffness in her bones. It would be foolish not to bask in such care, Jill resolves, especially when Mia still smells of sweet perfume instead of stifling smoke.

"We were so worried, Jill! You are not hurt, are you?"

"I am well, Mia, I swear it." Jill assures her languidly.

"Thank you for returning her, Captain." Mia nods to him before leading Jill inside. "Let's get you cleaned and fed. Presently, I'm afraid, there's so much chaos it is only Zoe here from our staff."

"Is Ethan alright?" Jill asks.

"He is positively frazzled, as are we all, but nothing he will not recover from." Mia sighs, "I'm regretful to say it, but he is quite put out with the both of us… An issue we will encounter at a later time. For now, please go wash up."

Jill nods as she meanders towards her room, relieved to have a break from the hysteria of the streets. She feels guilty, of course she does, for how rudely she treated Ethan; but it was necessary to stop the horde from overtaking the city. And how is it that the horde decided that she should be avoided?

Tired of such intrusive thoughts, she forces her mind to be still. Reveling, instead, in the hot bath Zoe prepares for her, Jill thinks the empty thoughts that help her meditate. Even still, her bones feel brittle against the heat of the water, she's tired and weak as she dresses. It is a circumstance she finds altogether intolerable.

Once dressed and washed, Jill follows a summons from Zoe to the drawing room. Slowly, others from the staff have begun to appear in the house, cleaning the bloodied wooden floors and ensuring all locks are intact. The foreman speaks in hushed tones about the spikes on the gates being bent out of shape and requiring replacement.

Mia and Ethan are already in the midst of an argument, a sight that leaves Jill unsettled upon her arrival. The tiredness she already feels bubbling inside of her as the couple takes a breath. With sighs and shaking heads, Mia turns her attention to Jill while Ethan braces himself against the nearest bookshelf.

"I know you must be exhausted... But Ethan and I feel we must have this conversation presently, to prevent the issue from festering. At any other time we may have difficulty approaching the topic again." Mia says, taking Jill's hands in her own.

"I would first like to express my ardent remorse for my own actions." Jill says never once removing her gaze from the ground. "It was not simply unbecoming of me, it was absolutely brutal for me to treat you with such disregard."

"Thank you, Jill." Mia nods, "Ethan, have you anything to say on the matter?"

Mr. Winters turns towards Jill, lips drawn into a tight line before he can bring himself to speak.

"I am grateful for your loyalty to my Mia and I." He starts, voice terse and tight. "That you willingly left the safety of our home to ensure her wellbeing is both admirable and humbling. I am honored that you should feel so devoted to our family. But you must understand, I am the master of this household, your father entrusted me with your protection in this city."

"I understand." Jill says flicking her gaze up towards him before her shame forces her to direct her eyes elsewhere.

"I believe I speak for both Mia and I when I say that we have grown fond of you over these months. It would be a terrible circumstance were you to sustain injury or worse."

Ethan sighs, rubbing his temple for a moment before speaking once more.

"You are no longer permitted to leave without an escort and express permission from myself. Am I understood?"

Jill hesitates, pained by the betrayal in his tone and this breach of trust that caused such a thing to exist.

"Do you fear another attack, Ethan?"

He sighs in response, "It matters not what I fear, it matters that you hear and understand me. I've every intention of fulfilling your father's trust in my abilities as a head of household. You must do as I have asked. Are we clear, Miss. Valentine?"

"Indeed." Jill mutters, wondering if anyone could believe that this attack was but one terribly experience. It has never been more clear to herself, that this war is near its climax.

"I suppose that is all, Jill, you may return to your chambers." Mia says.

"Now wait just a moment." Ethan holds out his hand.

Mia gives him a sharp scowl, "She need not be involved in our marital quarrels, husband."

"I need a witness to corroborate that I have in fact fired Miss Baker." He states firmly.

"She did nothing wrong." Mia argues.

"She lured you half way across the city just before an outbreak!" Ethan raises his voice to such a degree Jill's eyes widen at the tone. "I'll not have such a negligent, irresponsible person under my employ putting the one I treasure most in danger!"

"I chose to follow!" Mia rebukes him.

"And that is another issue entirely." Ethan growls with a roll of his eyes.

"Speak plainly, husband, your anger is directed towards me, is it not?"

"It is directed towards a woman who seeks your harm!"

"My harm!? Admit that you dislike greatly my enthusiasm for socialization as of late!"

"That woman has caused you nothing but trouble since the day she set foot in this home! You _will_ do as I see fit, wife!"

Jill feels a soft tap at her shoulder, one of the younger maids holds out a missive. In return, Jill offers a gentle thank you – words which are hardly audible over the scolding argument from her hosts – taking the letter in hand.

It's a short note, one which is not even sealed:

_Miss Valentine,_

_Please come to the estate, this is a most urgent matter._

_Chris R._

Jill allows an involuntary gasp to fall from her lips before she can raise her hand to hold it back. The feuding couple continue their tirade without a care for their shocked spectator. Not until Jill makes her presence known once more.

"Ethan." Jill approaches the man, shoving the parchment into his hand. "I need to go."

"Jill, are you mad? The streets are chaotic and there's no reason that you should leave." Mia says frustrated. "Why don't you go to bed, dear? You must be tired after such an exhaustive display."

Ethan shakes his head, "I don't want you leaving either."

"Please, he's never written me once in all these months of our acquaintance. I fear it may have something to do with Claire." Jill has the desire to burst out the front door in a similar fashion as earlier in the night. Still, she refrains, hoping to ease the nerves of her hosts, and give them reason to trust her.

"Be that as it may, tomorrow will be-"

"She may not have tomorrow if it is so urgent a matter." Jill protests.

Ethan bites his tongue, the grimace on his face absolutely menacing. "You're not to stay long. You'll send word the second you so much as think about leaving so that I can come to collect you."

"Yes, sir." Jill nods.

"And we'll take the carriage."

"Yes, sir." Jill hurries back up the stairs to grab her day gloves and warm walking cape. The worry she's felt all night blooming once again within her. What could be worse than a night gone wrong? A morn that will not relent and an enduring sense of unease, of course.

She dreads what she might encounter at the Redfield estate, she cannot fathom such travesties continuing into the day.

She clasps her hands before returning to the front hall, "Please God in heaven above. Please allow one small sliver of hope in this place."


	16. A Fair Evaluation

The stench of burning corpses must stretch a hundred mile radius around the city, the heat from the flames is sweltering despite the winter air. Ethan's wearing a pinched expression, he keeps trying to look through work documents but it's clear he is unable to focus.

Jill says nothing, focusing her attention on the stitching of her gloves as if she'll find some secret within them. The truth of the matter is she's desperate to stay awake, she is thoroughly exhausted from the escapades of the night. It would be so easy to drift to sleep with the rocking of the carriage, but there is altogether too much to think about and so she refuses the temptation to drift to sleep outright.

The minute details she observes soothe her mind enough that a heaviness fills her. She's desperate for something to keep her awake; yet, she cannot bring herself to speak to Ethan out of fear he may change his mind.

She runs her fingers along the hilt of the sword at her hip. Yes, she is unabashedly carrying the weapon in public now that the danger of infection feels imminent. Her gaze avoids the hypnotic rivers of blood just outside the carriage window and the sight of soldiers hauling bodies towards various bonfires in the city streets. She'd spotted a soldier with a bag of severed heads and other appendages upon setting into the coach, it's such a terrible thing to think about.

Ethan hesitates to leave her off, once they arrive at the Redfield estate; but before he can move to comment on such a task, Jill is already beyond the gates and awaiting entrance. A single maid, sweet despite the shaking of her hands, beckons Jill indoors.

Once her outer garments are put up, Jill is lead to a portion of the home she is unfamiliar with. For a moment she's so confused she thinks that her mind is merely playing tricks on her. Until, of course, she enters a small study and there stands a frazzled looking Mr. Redfield. He's positioned beside the singular window, looking out at the distressed chaos of the streets.

He only turns to acknowledge her presence from the inbred memory of propriety, or so it seems with the disinterest in his gaze. There's something about him – the unkempt nature of his appearance perhaps – which endears her further. He still wears the clothes he'd worn in battle, his hair in a similar state disarray that she had previously seen in him. The only difference between then and now is the way sunlight glimmers off of his skin and the speckles of blood on his jaw.

They stand on opposite ends of the room, as if a wall of glass stands between them and any movement will shatter it. The maid leaves their presence, closing the door just audibly enough to jar Jill back into reality.

Hand reaching to adjust her hair, Jill speaks.

"I see you survived the battle."

"I did." He nods.

"That is… fortunate." She tries to resist the breathiness of her voice but cannot stave it off entirely.

"I must say the same of you." He clenches his hand, gaze suddenly unfocused. "You… I am sorry."

"What for?" She asks.

"Calling you here… You look quite tired."

"The same could be said of you, Mr. Redfield, we both fought long into the night." She notes, the dark ghosts of lost sleep hanging just beneath his eyes. "Perhaps you should sit."

He shakes his head, "I thank you… For your concern."

Again, a fragile silence falls on their shoulders as does the haze of heat emanating from the fireplace.

Jill takes one small nervous step forward, "What happened? After I departed?"

Despite the desperation she feels to ask after Claire, this tension surrounding them is far too curious. She cannot bring herself to wonder aloud what caused his urgency, it is so captivating, whatever this interaction is.

He rubs the bridge of his nose with his hand, dragging the already sunken skin down as he covers his mouth.

"It was a most strange occurrence… While we spoke, not a single beast approached us, as if we had turned to dust before them. Upon this realization, I utilized their distraction to attack. When you were gone from my side… I worried greatly for you, Miss Valentine."

"I am well, as you can see."

"Your safety is indeed a condolence from a night that had been so ruinous."

"I am… I am quite lucky." She admits feebly.

"Sometimes I think you are the most blessed being among us." He says, gaze just far enough away that it does not land on her. "You found Mrs. Winters, I take it?"

"I did… She is alive and has her health as ever before." Jill tries yet another step forward, taking notice of the untouched breakfast on his desk. Her own hunger and tiredness beginning to peak through the panic within her.

"Colonel Burton told me that you were on the field at dawn, did you truly spend so long in the fight?"

Jill nods slowly, realizing that his eyes have not left her this entire interaction. Her body suddenly burns with awareness, even the skin beneath her dress feels his scrutiny.

"I was needed." Jill says plainly.

"I do not doubt it." He finally moves from the window.

Unable to bear whatever could come from his mouth next, Jill asks the dreaded question.

"Your letter frightened me, sir. What was it that spurred you to request my presence?"

He gives a grimace, followed by a shaking intake of breath. "Claire…"

"What happened to Claire?" She begs the question, gathering the last of her courage in anticipation of the answer. Somehow his hand is in hers when she asks, she does not shy away from the contact, though the motion clearly disturbs and confuses him; for he holds off in silence whilst processing their linked hands.

Jill thinks she must have done this, taken hold of him that is, and she isn't sure why she does. However, the desperation within her allows the question to be discarded. She names the contact after her own need for closeness, convinces herself it was merely due to panic and nothing more. His low voice breaks her nervous thoughts and she is grateful to him.

"I can't say I know for certain… Only that when I arrived home this morn, our foreman had locked her in her chambers." The realization nearly leaves Jill faint as Mr. Redfield continues. "She's feverish, supposedly she's wounded… I cannot bear the thought of it."

Jill shakes her head, never before has she seen a man express such raw emotion. Things of that nature are reserved for ladies and fools, but the terrible circumstance warrants his reaction.

"Has a doctor been sent for?"

"Of course, but you must know that doctors are stretched thin looking for those who could be turned. It could be hours yet before one arrives, and worst of all she could be… could be…" He shakes his head, features pinched together as if to act as a barrier against the emotion within him. A futile measure, Jill can see him so plainly the shock of it cannot be rightly expressed even as he turns from her.

It is a rash decision, one that is unwise in every meaning of the phrase, but wisdom has never been a virtue of Jill's. Turning on her heal she reaches for the door, Mr. Redfield's voice wavers as he speaks.

"Miss Valentine, please don't leave."

"I am sorry, Mr. Redfield, I've a friend's health to look after." She says.

It takes him a moment to register her meaning, but when he does, the young man is following her into the hall.

"You can't just-"

"I very much can and I will." Jill says sternly, turning towards him in time to catch the disbelief in his eyes.

He shakes his head, "Absolutely not! Even with your stubbornness you know better that to be in the same room with one potentially turning."

"Someone must perform such a task and I will have to suffice in these trying times." She insists.

"I forbid you." He says, clearly uncertain what else to say.

"Then it is a good thing I do not report to you." She says with finality, hurrying towards the room in question. The door is locked, as is the protocol with those potentially turning, but Jill has always had a knack for unlocking. It is a talent she picked up from one of her father's trainees and utilized for childhood pranks, mostly. Now, however, she uses such a tool to swiftly allow herself entrance to a dangerous rink.

Therein lies the young miss, breath heavy and sweat slicked forehead, Jill's heart aches at the sight. Jill is quick to the young girl's bedside, immediately holding Claire's fevered cheeks in her hands. For a second, Jill feels a hitch of fear in her chest that this could be the beginning of her dearest friend turning against them.

With Mr. Redfield's presence looming by the door, Jill takes to performing her own examination of Claire's body. No blood seeps through her night dress, the girl does not flinch at Jill's touch even in her slumber, nor does she wake. Indeed, the only indication of any injury is her right hand, wrapped loosely in linen and stained red.

Jill hesitates for only a moment before unraveling the cotton fabric, what she finds is a bloody gash in the hand of her friend. It is an injury she is familiar with, for a moment, the familiarity nearly crushes her entirely.

"Thank God." Jill sighs upon the realization.

"Miss Valentine?" Mr. Redfield takes a half step closer.

"She'll be alright." Jill nods, "She's only in need of a new pistol, hers looks to have backfired. And I believe she must have been well on her way to a cold before this incident."

Mr. Redfield takes his face in his hands and lets out a sound that is reminiscent of a sob, if men were the type of creatures to do such a thing.

"Are you certain?" He asks.

"I am, please have a pitcher sent up and some fresh linens." Jill rolls up her sleeves as she moves to close the curtains.

He hesitates and stands staring at her for a moment longer as if trying to discern what has just transpired. When he does finally move, it is awkward, stiff motions that take him from the room.

Jill returns to the bed muttering to herself about how everything will be fine from now onwards. Perhaps she does not trust in her own abilities to detect infection, it could be her exhaustion, or the terrible looming sense of dread that has plagued her in this city. Regardless, she shoves those thoughts away, in the hopes of settling her still frantically beating heart.

A small group of maids walk into the room moments later, the requested items in hand. They are slow and unsure in their approach to the bed, Jill does not act in kind. She is practically brazen in her cleansing of Claire's wounds and then tending to her fever.

It is not so arduous a task, especially with Claire deep in her slumber. There would be no complaints from Jill herself, were it not for her own pressing tiredness, her hunger, and the cold still stuck beneath her skin. It must be close to noon when she sits at the foot of the bed, nearly faint from exertion.

"Are you alright, Miss?" Mr. Redfield's voice startles her slightly, though she has not near enough energy to jump. He stands by the door, freshened up from his earlier state. Even with his appearance put together as normal, his voice retains the uncharacteristic softness from before.

"I am… tired, Mr. Redfield." She admits.

He nods, "I must say, I am surprised that you tended to my sister personally."

"Of course I did, I would have acted similarly for any I call friend." She states.

"You honor my family, Miss Valentine." He says, biting his lip nervously before allowing a smile. "You… you never cease to amaze me with your admirable spirit."

"Do remind yourself of that from time to time." Jill manages to chuckle.

She hears him let out a laugh of his own, soft and tired as it is.

"Perhaps you would care to dine with me? I doubt if you've not had a moment to sleep you could have made pause for a meal."

He holds out his hand, and she surprises herself by taking it.

"Thank you, Mr. Redfield. I think I will."

They have a second between them of disbelief at their current circumstance, and yet, neither moves to break the air about them. As if they can retain this sense of understanding, they might be able to finally reach some kind of peace.

When the stillness is too much to bear she moves to exit the room, only to feel the tug of his hand still in her own. She turns to face him, eyes landing on their locked hands to avoid whatever expression he gives her. She thinks on how familiar his hand feels in her own instead of honing into the silence, it's a strange thought that has her voicing a concern she did not know she held.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" She asks.

"I do not believe I can answer such a thing in confidence." He admits, walking to meet her and tucking her hand neatly into the fold of his arm.

"Should I be insulted?"

"I do not believe I possess the current strength to insult you, madam."

"If only such were always the case." She chuckles

"If only." He agrees.

"You've the power to make it so."

"You've the power to be insulted by less." He retorts as they reach the dining room.

"Indeed." She finds herself agreeing as he pulls out her chair. After thanking him, she takes the offering and wonders why she feels her cheeks burning crimson.

They eat in silence, she thinks such an incident should be awkward and unsettling. But that tender air between them remains, it is quiet and reverent as a church organ from blocks away. Something crucial is in the silence, but Jill is frustrated to find she cannot name the feeling.

"I should send word to Mr. Winters." She says as the servants take to cleaning the table.

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Redfield asks with a soft chuckle.

"I… I made a fool of myself last night, I'm afraid." She shakes her head at the thought.

"Nonsense." Mr. Redfield approaches, hand outstretched to her once more.

She accepts once more and they take to walking, where their destination is, she hasn't a clue. However, they are not in any rush, their steps are slow, calculative almost. As if to stretch the time they have to speak.

"My host fears that there is still a great plethora of danger in the city. He does not want me traversing the streets alone any longer."

"I am sorry that I find myself in agreement, that the streets are not safe." Mr. Redfield clarifies.

She lets out a bitter laugh, placing a hand over her sword. "I can handle myself."

"Be that as it may, I for one will not oppose your statement, I too worry for the immediate safety of London."

"Do you believe another attack is imminent?" She asks.

"I would be a willfully ignorant buffoon to believe otherwise."

"These are dark times."

"If it is any consolation, I fear for my male friends as much as I fear for the women in my life."

"You care greatly for your friends?" She doesn't know why she asks, but the words are awful in their immediacy.

"I do, I have lost many a great companion to the horde…" He shakes his head and somehow, they've ended up in the ballroom.

The wide expanse of the empty dance floor is haunting and eerie in its temptation. Part of her wants to dance, just as she and Mr. Redfield did previously, in quiet bliss without a vicious war just beyond. On the other hand, she feels impulsive, she wants so desperately to know where Mia was, why the undead did not attack her, and how unmentionables can have one mind.

Mr. Redfield notices her faraway gaze and clears his throat to regain her attention, "You have not told me why you wish to send word to Mr. Winters."

She shakes her head ruefully, "He has insisted that I have an escort."

"Might I inquire what spurred such a request? Other than the battle."

"I disobeyed his wishes by leaving his household last night… Twice. I treated him most abhorrently and I am ashamed of my actions. He insists that I be accompanied to and from the house from now on."

Mr. Redfield takes in a soft breath before speaking, "Perhaps I could escort you."

Jill balks at the suggestion, taking a step back from him. "A young man and a young lady, unmarried, walking the streets unaccompanied and in broad daylight? It is an outrageous notion and you should be well aware of that."

"You are right of course." He shakes his head as though irritated with himself.

"I should be returning to Claire…" Jill says at a loss for anything else to say.

"I will have word sent at once to Mr. Winters." He takes a step away from her before bowing courteously.

Once he has gone from her presence, she gathers what is left of her wits and treks back to Claire's room.

Jill very nearly collapses, from her own exhaustion and the innate stress from interacting with Mr. Redfield. Though, the state of distress in which she found him earlier had… dare she admit such a thing? That she was endeared by the softness of it all? And that he had retained such a tender air about him during all of their interactions this day… it is so strange to ponder.

His gentle intonations _had_ endeared her, though. How could a man so bold and callous be nearly reduced to tears for the sister he treasures? Had this been the first time he spoke to her without a cloak of masculinity to hide his true nature? Had she finally seen him truly?

Before Jill can answer any of these questions, she returns to Claire's room to find it vacant except for the girl attempting to sit up.

"Jill?" She asks, voice rasping and tired.

"Hush, save your strength." Jill says, pushing the young girl's shoulder gently back towards the mattress.

"Why are you here?"

"Can't a friend care for another without question?" Jill asks as if the answer is clear.

"But… the fighting?"

"It is over now, we're all quite safe, I assure you."

"Chris?"

"He is well, aside from his immediate worry for your state."

Claire looks at her for a moment, a small fragile smile breaking across her face. "You are… perhaps… more than a friend."

Jill smiles tentatively in return. "That would be an honor, but please, do rest easy."

Claire continues to push her questioning, and Jill does her part to keep the younger girl placated. Eventually, the redhead returns to the land of dreams and Ethan arrives to collect Jill. It is a bittersweet moment, she does so hate to leave a friend in a sorry state; however, upon her arrival home she is sent straight to bed.

It is such a splendid rest she has, finally giving in to the demands of her body. Empty sleep is such a soothing solace, and the only place she has to escape the madness of the world.


	17. As Above, So Below

**YOUR GIRL FUCKED THIS UP BABIES I'M SO SORRY**

**I was tired as hell and posted the wrong chapter please read this one thank you.**

London crawls ever closer to recovery after that horrendous night. Jill finds herself easing into a reality that stuns her so. She has yet to return to her work at the umbrella, the army is far too busy containing the recently infected population of the poor and rebuilding projects within the city.

Jill thinks it is quite foolish to ignore a cure, however, she cannot complain too much. With the lack of work, she is able to spend her days with the still quite ill Claire whose time awake is much like the winter sun: brief, foggy, and hardly at all.

Once a doctor has properly examined the young woman and proclaims she is neither dead nor undead, Rebecca is quick to accompany Jill's visitations. Often times, they are joined by Mr. Redfield, who worries, paces, and laughs nervously before excusing himself for his nerves. Rebecca teases him about his concerns while Jill prompts him to banter with her instead of overthinking such trifles.

Even with the distraction of Claire's health, however, Jill cannot help but keep her focus on a cure. She brings her journals with her when Rebecca cannot attend such afternoons and yet she has found very little in the way of progress. She is frustrated and devastated at her lack of development, she fears greatly for what could happen should the undead strike again. Will she be able to stop them a second time?

One particularly frustrating morning, just shy of one week after the attack, Jill wakes nearly an hour later than usual. She seems to have misplaced her most recent string of thoughts she'd written down and she's fairly certain Ethan is gone for the day. All of this meaning she either has to disobey his orders and go to the Redfield's unaccompanied, or wait until his return.

Thoroughly put out the with this self-inflicted circumstance, she huffs dramatically at her own reflection before making her way down the stairs. Thinking that she might indulge in a late breakfast to brighten her spirits, she strolls lazily through the home.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairwell and spots Mia alone in the drawing room, however, Jill's plans are quick to change as she stops in her tracks.

Mia's writing something down, it looks like a letter from Jill's distance, though she can't be entirely certain. The woman looks contemplative, tired even, before she reaches down to her sewing kit and pulls out a vial. Jill watches as Mia seals the letter with its extra package, then opens the nearest window and drops it into the garden.

What must be a spirit possesses Jill then, as she waltzes into the drawing room, making her presence undeniable with a slam of the door behind her.

"Oh! Jill, what a surprise." Mia turns in shock, the window sliding shut without a sound.

"Good morning, Mia." Jill eyes her host as she returns to herself.

"I had thought you would be at the Redfield's by now." She sounds almost weakened by Jill's very presence. The younger of the two tucks her hands behind her back as she stows away this reaction.

"I'm afraid I overslept, did you not notice my absence at breakfast?"

"Oh, yes of course, we did!" Mia chuckles, "I had thought perhaps you had skipped a meal, you often did so during your days at the laboratories."

Jill nods taking one step forward as she asks, "What are you doing?"

Mia waves off Jill with a smile, moving to put away her sewing kit.

"I was hoping for some fresh air, the fireplace tends to make this front room quite stuffy."

"No." Jill removes her pistol from her belt, "What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Jill-"

"Why were you at the orphanage the night of the attack? Why are you always out of this house? Why do you speak in hushed tones with Zoe Baker? What are you _doing_, Mia?"

Mia glances between Jill's face and the gun in her hand, unable to speak at first.

"What do you have to do with the Birkins?" Jill asks, pulling back the hammer of her gun.

"Jill, please, allow me to explain."

"I am."

Mia shakes her head, "You are more observant than I had anticipated."

"Truly?"

"Have you met the man I married? A darling man, but blissfully ignorant that one. You are different, however, but of course you are." Mia seems to have calmed since being introduced to the opposite end of Jill's gun. It's strange, or perhaps it's soothing, they both know something is amiss now. To have something definite, undeniable, it is a welcome change.

"I do not hear you answering any of my questions."

Boldly, Mia takes a few steps toward her guest. "Accompany me, and I will show you where I have been. This is clearly not a place for secrets."

"Accompany you where?"

"You want to know why I leave this house so often? I will show you where I go and what I am doing."

Jill hesitates, but her trust in Mia wins out, forcing her to replace her gun to its holster. This could perhaps be a terrible decision, but it's one Jill has a feeling she won't regret.

Mia continues packing away her sewing with relaxed shoulders.

"Tell Margaret that I am taking you shopping, you're in need of new gloves."

Jill nods once, skeptical even as she complies to her host's wishes. There's a flood of humiliation in her body, at the idea of what she has just done before a woman she calls friend. Yet Jill ignores such feelings in favor of retaining her fearlessness; she must believe that good will come from all of this, she's little else in the way of choice.

Mia and Jill say nothing to one another as they walk briskly through the city streets, buildings are still charred despite the street-cleaners best efforts. Indeed, there have been nearly endless fires for the undead in the past week, the typical smog of the city has been amplified tenfold. Windows have taken on a yellow tinge that no amount of cleaning or passage of time could ever hope to wipe away completely.

They approach an unassuming house, with the usual fortifications and the stain of ash from all that has transpired. It stands but four blocks from the empty lot which once held the orphanage. Jill shivers at the thought, whilst Mia knocks three times at the door.

When Zoe Baker answers the door, Jill very nearly collapses with shock.

"Mrs. Winters, do you think this is wise?" The maid hardly glances at Jill before asking.

"I think we have no choice in the matter." Mia says cryptically. Zoe nods once before moving to the side, allowing them entrance.

"I see you care little for your husband's good opinion." Jill chuckles briefly.

"My husband has no understanding when it comes to the horde, and therefore, his opinion on the subject has little bearing on my actions in that regard."

"So this does have to do with the horde, then?" Jill quirks a brow at her host.

"Was that ever a question, Jill?" Mia gives her a sly smile, "I doubt you'd have pulled a gun on me if I were involved in a sewing circle."

"And you still brought her here?" Zoe Baker asks nearly aghast.

"I'm not a fool, and I've always said that we should have brought her here sooner. Given her involvement in all of this, _we_ should have known better." Mia says sternly.

"And where exactly is here?" Jill inquires with a laugh once the women have glared for a sufficient period.

"Miss Valentine, what you are about to witness will be trying enough, please restrain yourself." Zoe Baker says firmly.

"You speak as though I'm to meet the devil himself."

"You've already met the man." From the nearby room comes Annette Birkin's voice.

"I had a feeling." Jill agrees stepping closer to the doctor's wife.

Just behind the woman is a little girl sitting on the floor of the parlor, she stares at Jill in surprise and Jill is equally shocked to see Sherry Birkin in person.

"Mia, this is a mistake. I've told you time and again not to get her involved." Mrs. Birkin scowls at Jill.

"I think it was a mistake to let her stay in that useless umbrella for so long when you know she's capable of helping us." Mia folds her arms bitterly.

All of her usual charm and grace gone from her face, now she stands stern without a bit of gentility in her. Jill is a bit taken aback by this version of Mia, how cold and determined she is. To see her stand up against Mrs. Birkin is a welcome, albeit startling, turn of events.

Mrs. Birkin scoffs, closing the parlor door behind her, as if to shield the young girl from their conversation.

"Well, you've brought her here, how much of our progress have you compromised." Mrs. Birkin says with a fold of her arms.

"_Christ_, Annette, we need help! We've been stuck for nearly a month now, you can't keep trying the same thing over and over again. It clearly isn't working." Mia rebukes her.

When those words are met with silence, Jill is the one to speak.

"Perhaps another opinion is necessary, I'm available and more than willing to oblige."

Mrs. Birkin scowls at Jill before speaking, "I don't trust your intentions."

"And I distrust yours, but which of us requires the other?" Jill tests her.

After a tense moment, Mrs. Birkin relents. "I swear to God himself if you make any of this worse I will kill you."

"I should hope so." Jill returns viciously before Mrs. Birkin can turn away.

"This way, Jill." Mia moves ahead of the younger girl with Zoe taking up the rear.

Jill follows after the two silently brooding ladies, wondering for a moment if she should be afraid. Soon, however, she is distracted by the eclectic nature of the house. The Birkins are well stocked with an odd assortment of weapons and medical tools that double as decoration on their walls. Some such tools are difficult to distinguish between the two.

Once they reach the back of the house, Mrs. Birkin lifts up a rug to reveal a trap door; despite how ominous all of this feels and how terribly uncertain she is in where she has placed her trust, Jill continues down with them. Down several flights of stairs into the basement, they come upon a full-scale laboratory. Jill holds in her shock as Zoe lights several candles to brighten the room, while Mia and Mrs. Birkin begin producing samples, notes, and other such items Jill does not recognize.

"You are right, that my husband is neurotic. That he can hardly keep a single thought straight long enough to speak." Mrs. Birkin says, boredly flipping through the pages of a journal. "That's because he's a drunk, a mere byproduct of being too good for the circumstance we now find ourselves in."

"I beg your pardon?" Jill asks.

"The doctor is wrapped up in something much larger than he had anticipated initially." Mrs. Birkin shakes her head ruefully.

"Dr. Birkin works for the true purpose of the Umbrella, you mean." Zoe gives a spiteful retort.

Mia stands between the two of them before any other words can be exchanged.

"Our meaning is this, Dr. Birkin, knowingly or not, is helping produce the zombification virus." Mia says. "More commonly known amongst the Umbrella's inner circle as the T-virus. We have our suspicions that he and a few other doctors are experimenting with the current iteration of the disease to make it far, _far _worse."

Jill is left with an internal stalemate, should she be surprised? Perhaps she is just a touch, still it feels impossible to be shocked when he spoke so clearly about the hive minded horde.

"So this, T-virus, it is man-made then?" Jill asks once she returns to her senses.

"As far as we are aware. We've no reason to believe otherwise, nothing of this sort has ever been found in nature that even comes close to resembling it." Mia responds handing Jill the notebook she'd been thumbing through. So distracted is she, however, she hardly cares to look through the book, and instead keeps her attention on the women before her.

"My working theory is that Oswell Spencer was the first to create the virus, but its origin is of little consequence to us at the present. What matters now is finding a cure, before it gets worse." Mrs. Birkin turns to one cabinet and produces samples to observe.

"If it is man-made, it can be reversed, plain and simple." Mia says confidently. "That has been our aim here."

"If I may ask, how did you become involved in this, Mia? Forgive my ignorance if it is so, but you had very little interest in zombification before your marriage, at the least according to your husband."

Mia's gaze darts to Zoe Baker as her jaw sets in place.

"That is a… sensitive topic, but I see why you would ask such a question." Mia sighs, approaching the letter she'd dropped into the garden which now sits on a counter-top. It is only slightly damp from the dew as she opens it to produce the vial for Mrs. Birkin.

"It's my fault." Zoe steps forward, "To be fair, it is my brothers fault more than mine, still I own some of the blame."

"You're infected." Jill says it despite her disbelief.

Zoe nods, rolling up her sleeve to reveal the bite on her arm. It's still angry and bruised, clearly incapable of healing, but the gray of her arm stops at her wrist and elbow.

Jill gasps, taking a step away from with woman. "Dear God in heaven."

She can't help herself from speaking, it's a jarring thing to see even if she was suspicious that such a thing was possible. To know and to see it is reality, is an entirely different beast.

Once Jill has regained her composure she speaks.

"So, I'm assuming the decomposition process does not affect everyone as equals, in that case."

"Indeed."

"You knew that already. Did you not?" Mrs. Birkin hardly moves from her studying of samples.

"I knew that infected were capable of keeping their minds, their bodies are another story." Jill says.

Mia begins to speak as she rifles through a drawer, "Do you have a theory as to how such a thing could come to pass, Jill?"

Jill looks to the floor, head beginning to ache with the hundreds of possibilities. Once she raises her gaze, Mrs. Birkin cocks her head as if to tease her.

"The Anti-Christ." Jill answers, uncertain in the strength of her voice.

"That's what He calls himself, yes." Mrs. Birkin scoffs, "The prick."

"He calls them to live among the uninfected, is that your meaning?" Jill asks.

"It must be true." Mia approaches Jill and turns the pages of the journal in her hand. There's an intricate drawing on the page, a tree with many sprawling branches, empty save the ingredients listed on each.

"My brother's notes." Zoe clarifies at Jill's confusion, "He had a particularly wretched fascination with such creatures, but of course, my parents ignored this obsession as merely a quirk. I feared the day that his pets would be unleashed, but I knew that his research might help with a cure."

Mia places a hand on Zoe's shoulder, Mrs. Birkin pays neither of them mind as she speaks.

"We have every reason to believe that the T-virusnot only infects, decomposes, and deteriorates human life. All of our acquired evidence thus far points to a combined mentality under one ruler. That is, perhaps, the most dangerous part of the disease."

"A collective conscious, yes, Dr. Birkin said such a thing to me." Jill nods thinking about such an encounter.

Mrs. Birkin shakes her head, "The infected will typically believe they are hearing the voice of God in their first hours of infection. Then, they are given a task by their almighty, many are merely turned loose to cause chaos. Some, are given the job of dismantling mankind's defense."

"I hear that man who leads the horde, he calls for undying allegiance, and my task has always been to infiltrate the aristocracy." Zoe speaks, ashamed as she hides her deathly skin.

"You've yet to answer my question, Mia, how did you become involved in all of this?" Jill asks.

Mia's gaze turns downward and does not answer, tears falling from her eyes to the floor.

"It was before we arrived in London." Zoe says nervously, "Truly, she and her husband saved me out of their own goodwill. They didn't know me, and because of their kindness I have been given at the very least more time. I'm not proud when I say this, but it is truth. I… I attacked her, I did not manage to infect her, I received my summons just before I could. The farther one goes from the city, the weaker His link is to us. That is why country zombies are so much wilder, they're given no direction, no task to complete."

Jill approaches Mia, "Ethan told me that you suffered…"

Mia shakes her head, "This is no world to bring a child into, and I have made it my mission to make this all right. I must create a world safe enough for a baby before I have one of my own."

"Not all of us had a choice." Mrs. Birkin scoffs.

"I meant you no offense." Mia says softly, in response, Mrs. Birkin shakes her head moving onto another task.

"That is why you remain in the city, then? To avoid another… incident?" Jill asks.

"Indeed." Mia nods, "When I recovered, I met Annette. I cannot tell you why, perhaps God led me to such a decision, but I approached her about undead living among us."

Mrs. Birkin sighs as she approaches Jill, "I had known for some time that my husband was involved in all of this nonsense, I managed to get it out of him one particularly slovenly evening of drinking. Ever since I've been trying to end all of the damage he's caused."

"And this," Jill adjusts the journal in her hands, "I don't quite understand what this has to do with that goal."

Zoe bites her lip and then shakes her head remorsefully.

"I managed to save my brother's notes from his experiments, he had concocted a cure. I watched… I watched him infect himself just to see if his vaccine worked. It did, unfortunately when you allow undead loose of their chains, they attack those who are not so well prepared… My mother, my father, and of course myself."

"We've the tools enough to produce a vaccine, but we cannot get the measurements for our ingredients correct. We cannot figure out how he did it." Mrs. Birkin says frustratedly emptying one of her samples.

"The recent outbreak has done little in the way of helping us." Mia says.

"It has been more than a hindrance, it has been a crucial set back." Mrs. Birkin spits wickedly.

"What's more, I fear that a larger attack looms ever nearer. He goes silent when he plans attacks, it is a most viciously unsettling thing." Zoe folds her arms as if she were cold.

"Something has changed, He has not been active in years." Mrs. Birkin's voice cracks as she speaks.

"Me." Jill mutters it, but the women around her hear the word clearly.

"You?" Mrs. Birkin asks.

"The undead… The undead avoided me at the previous battle, and upon my arrival to the city, one spoke plainly to me." Jill recalls those terrible experiences with a grimace, "I took a brooch with the Christ lamb on it."

"One like this?" Mrs. Birkin tosses a pin towards Jill, it is the very same design though the colors are brighter.

"Yes." Jill responds. A sense of dread, heavy and terrible, settles in her chest.

Zoe looks doubtful before she speaks, "It is… It is a possibility. But what would He want with you?"

"Do you know who this leader could be?" Jill inquires.

Zoe shakes her head, "We have thought that perhaps a parliamentarian is the culprit. Mr. Ashford seems a likely candidate or even Sir Brian Irons."

"I had wondered if it could potentially be an advisor to the king, this has to be politically motivated. There's been talk recently within the palace, a new toy for the king by the name of Excella. Even if their leader is a man, I'd not be surprised if his cover would be a woman." Mia says.

"I disagree." Mrs. Birkin says, "Whomever He is, He possesses military prowess. He was no fool with the previous attack."

"Your husband is out of the question, I take it?" Jill queries.

"My husband is a victim as much as Zoe, albeit a different circumstance." Mrs. Birkin shakes her head, "In addition, He must be a part of the hive mind, and that means infected. I've every reason to believe it is General Wesker, he's such a strange man I'd not be surprised to find out if he were infected."

"Infected I might buy, the leader of such a thing, I doubt very much. He cares so little for the wellbeing of others, his apathy would hardly allow him to bring about the fall of mankind." Mia asserts.

"And yet…" Jill thinks of the missive she found on the General's desk, with Mia's name left legible.

"And yet?" Mrs. Birkin asks.

Jill informs them of the letter, "I could glean little else from it, but Mia, you are in the General's line of sight."

Mia pales at the thought, "He must know… Oh good God, I haven't a clue what he must be thinking."

"In any case, what would a leader of the undead want to do with Miss Valentine?" Zoe asks.

"Perhaps that is a mystery for another day." Mia sighs.

"You said, previously, that _Las Plagas _or this T-virus was manufactured by the inner circle of Umbrella?" Jill suddenly recalls such information and finds herself appalled.

"Unfortunately, it is so." Mia says.

"This whole nonsense has been a way to waste mankind's time until the Righteous One decides we're ripe for apocalypse." Mrs. Birkin folds her arms, finally giving the other women her full attention.

"But the cure… Would it be a cure, or is it true what they say? Would such a thing only be preventative?" Jill begs the question.

Zoe retreats further into herself as Mia speaks.

"We cannot know for certain until tests are conducted." She says.

"But it is highly improbable that we could return the dead to the living." Mrs. Birkin says it so cruelly even Jill flinches as the words are spoken.

"I have accepted my fate." Zoe says, "Before our vaccine can be spread, many more will die, I feel it in my bones. He will not go out without more destruction, I'm afraid."

"And we will meet him at the gates with arms and fire when he does." Mia assures her.

"What I fear more than that is the fate I should endure afterwards. When He is no longer in control and I am to lose my mind."

"Hush." Mia places her hands softly on the girl's shoulders. "I won't hear of it, and you should not dwell on such a matter."

Jill stands awkwardly as the silence settles between the four women.

"What can I do? To aide this process?" Jill asks.

"I must see your father's transcripts and your own work journals." Mrs. Birkin says, "God only knows if there's anything within them I've yet to try… But try we must."

Jill nods, "You will have anything you require from me."

Mrs. Birkin gives a belated nod, "I had hoped you would be receptive, this is more than I could have hoped for."

"I want you to read through Lucas's notes, perhaps you can find something we have yet to see." Mia says.

"Absolutely." Jill nods as the church bells outside sound the noon hour.

Mia gasps at the realization, "Dear God, we're late!"

"Late?" Jill asks as Mia bustles about the lab.

"My husband will be home in no less that thirty minutes and he's been tragically punctual ever since that scolding he gave us."

The woman rolls her eyes and yet a guilt hangs just so on her shoulders.

"Don't worry about that, I'll go. I was expected at the Redfield estate some hours ago, I'll have him escort me. You stay here, I'll make something up."

"Are you certain?" Mia asks.

"This is where you're needed most, whether he knows it or not." Jill says.

Mia nods her approval, "Hurry home then, I will see you tonight."

Tucking the journal firmly under her arm Jill departs as swiftly as she's able.

She makes it home in just under fifteen minutes, a feat she finds herself proud of considering her unfamiliarity with that part of the city. Quickly, she removes her warm clothes and enters the drawing room, before she can even think of something to distract herself with, Ethan waltzes into the house.


	18. Discovery and Tribute

**IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE CHAPTER TITLED 'As Above, So Below' GO BACK AND DO THAT BECAUSE I AM BIG DUMB AND POSTED THE WRONG CHAPTER.**

**If you have read it, you may proceed.**

Convincing Ethan to leave just as swiftly as he had arrived is an easier task than Jill had initially anticipated. Sitting in the carriage as the two depart for the Redfield estate, Jill thinks on how inattentive the man really is. For a man so keen on control as of late, he still allows things such as reputation to supersede all else. His lack of observation is, at the least, a blessing for Jill and her newfound goal.

Upon arrival, the foreman informs her that Rebecca has already left for the afternoon and that Mr. Redfield is engaged with other visitors. Jill takes up her position by Claire's side, glancing just briefly at the young lady's sleeping features before setting to work.

Zoe Baker's brother must have been – or as the case could be, still is – an absolute mad man. His writings are a mixture of incoherent and strikingly prophetic, each sentence is a contradiction to the last. Reading this work is truly an endeavor that leaves Jill feeling disconnected from all sense.

Still she feels she can glean something from each passage, he clearly knew that _Las Plagas _was made by man. He even reasons through the list of ingredients he'd previously outlined, yet something seems to be missing. She turns page after page, her frustration increasing as she realizes that she too can make neither heads nor tails of it.

"Busy, I see." The soft chuckle of Mr. Redfield startles her out of her skin. At her gasp, Mr. Redfield laughs once more. "I'm sorry to have broken your trance."

Skin settling, Jill offers a small smile. "Not too sorry, clearly."

"Might I inquire after what has captured your interest so?" Jill hesitates for a moment leading Mr. Redfield's smile to falter with nerves.

"You'll think I'm foolish." She claims.

"Nonsense, if you've yet to convince me you're foolish by now, I think it is clear you can't be." He says it with a laugh as if to punctuate the sentiment.

Biting the inside of her lip, Jill takes an unprecedented leap of faith.

"I… I have kept up my research." She says softly.

He raises both brows at her, "For the cure?"

She nods, the feeling in her breast a mix of anxiety and embarrassment at her own admission. Mia is going to murder her for divulging such a secret.

"I just can't stay away. I suppose." Jill's voice is nearly a whisper as her fingers drum nervously against the open page of the journal.

"Have you any new developments?" He asks.

Jill suddenly unleashes her thoughts after reading Lucas Baker's journal, censoring herself as carefully as she's able to conceal certain elements of the tale. She talks about ingredients and other known cures for ailments big and small.

Then she looks at Mr. Redfield, sees how utterly enraptured he is by her words and she laughs. It's a strange reaction, she knows it is, but little else feels appropriate.

"Now you know how foolish and fruitless my mind is." She laughs again, "All of this and to top it off I'm lousy botanist."

Mr. Redfield shakes his head, "You, Miss Valentine, are not foolish nor is your mind fruitless. You are a great many things, all of which are admirable. I find your dedication to this cause to be the most admirable of all."

He has pulled a chair up beside her during her monologue and now he glances at the journal on her lap with a pensive hum under his breath.

"You think that some kind of herb or wildlife could hold the key to our cure?" He begs the question.

"If _Las Plagas _was made by nature, its resolution should be found in much the same place. Don't you agree?"

"I would like very much for you to be correct." He says, "May I look at your notes?"

"Oh, they're not mine." Jill says quickly, "I had merely dug it up from my other work materials at the Winters', I think it belongs to another scientist from the Umbrella."

Still she slowly passes him the notebook, he thumbs through it for only a moment before a knock at the door startles them.

"Mr. Redfield, you've-"

"Is it urgent?" Mr. Redfield asks sternly. The tone of his voice shakes Jill briefly, and as it seems, the foreman too is taken aback.

"Unfortunately, yes. General Wesker has sent you an update." The foreman responds with a tip of his head.

Mr. Redfield lets out a frustrated sigh, "My apologies, Miss Valentine."

"It's quite alright." She assures him, taking back the journal. He takes her hand and places a gentle kiss to the back of her palm before walking away.

She's grateful for the loneliness after his departure, she doesn't have to hide the burning of her cheeks in the absence of others. Eyes following the door until the latch sounds, Jill places her hand against the flush of her skin.

"Are you too catching ill, Jill?" Claire's croaking voice nearly elicits a scream from Jill.

"Dear sweet God, Claire!" Jill's hand frantically finds a place over her throbbing heart.

Claire gives a broken hum that quickly becomes a cough, in response, Jill can only laugh.

"Serves you right for scaring me so." Jill reaches for the pitcher of water nearby and begins to pour a glass for the young girl.

"What do you expect from me? I'm feeling better now – I promise you it's true this time – yet I'm still banished to my bed."

Jill makes a half-hearted jest back before attending the duties she has inherited as Claire's caretaker. It is an unnecessary task for her, it is not as through the Redfields are in want of domestics. However, Jill likes feeling useful and the simplicity of these tasks allows her mind to ease as she goes.

Claire, true to her word, sits up in her bed and chats between fits of coughing. A welcome improvement for her previous bleary-eyed half-consciousness from earlier in the week. Jill feels something similar enough to relaxation that she can convince herself this is the case.

As the day fades into night, Claire falls swiftly back to sleep and Ethan returns for Jill, all of this feels like clockwork despite how recent a development it really is. Just as the pair bid farewell to the foreman, Mr. Redfield appears rushing down the stairs.

"Miss Valentine!" He calls, nearly breathless as he stands before her.

"Is everything alright?" She asks with a chuckle.

He lets out a breathless laugh, "Yes of course… I just wanted to ensure I saw you out."

"It is much appreciated, Mr. Redfield." Mr. Winters says but is outright ignored by the man his comment is directed towards.

"I-uh." Mr. Redfield pushes the book in his hand towards Jill. "I also wanted to show you this, but it seems time slipped away from me."

It's a book on herbology and botany, well loved from the looks of its tattered binding and bent pages. She finds some amusement in the idea that perhaps the brash impulsive Redfield siblings find solace in gardening of all things.

"What is this?" She asks with a good-natured chuckle.

"My mother was particularly invested in gardening and forestry, she's plenty of books on the topic. I would be remiss to keep such things idle when they could be useful to you. I'm certain she'd be thrilled to see it in use once more, in fact, we've a whole section of our library full of such texts that are available to you."

Jill looks up at the man who has spoken such incredible words, nearly shocked into silence with his offering. Once their eyes meet she finds she is truly unable to speak, between the depths of his gaze and sincerity of his smile she cannot retrieve her voice.

Tone soft and nearly silent, she utters a few simple stuttering sentences.

"That is… very kind of you. I-… I don't… I can't… Thank you."

He blinks once, then twice before his smile twitches with a laugh.

"Anything for you."

Jill stares at him, mouth agape, before she finally turns her gaze to the ground. She passes a quick glance to Mr. Winters before returning her eyes to the ground, just in the case she should lose her nerve. Or be caught up in the man before her once more.

"Mr. Winters should we not take our leave?" She asks indistinctly and with a wavering note to her voice.

"We've time enough." Mr. Winters responds with a chuckle.

Blushing furiously Jill curtsies to Mr. Redfield, "Good evening."

"Sleep well, Miss." He says stealing her hand to kiss it once more.

Jill hurries to the carriage, all the while her skin prickling with heat and something akin to adrenaline racing throughout her body. Mr. Winters strolls behind carrying with him a grin so large he might feel the weight of it.

Once the young woman is in the safety of her chambers she immediately sets to work with the book of the late Mrs. Redfield. The first thing Jill notices is the lovely script which decorates the margins of the text, each is almost a love letter in its own right. There are recommendations for keeping a garden in the city, cleaning the blood of the undead from the most delicate of petals, and notes on her children's favorite flowers.

Jill thinks back to Mr. Redfield's first offering of reconciliation and wonders if he arranged such florals himself. The idea of a man like him indulging in such a craft makes her smile in spite of herself. She turns each page, reading the words of a woman she'll never know, losing herself in the gentle bits of advice she gives. Some pages even have small drawings that look even more delicate than the words around them.

Then, Jill takes notice of one particularly interesting passage, _Sonnentreppe_ is the given name of a decidedly ugly flower. With the color of burnt brick and its dry curling petals, it leaves much to be desired. The note scribbled beside it, however, has Jill breathless.

_These little weeds are unwanted in the garden, but my mother swears by their ability to ward off undead. Perhaps I should give it a go sometime? A florist's nightmare they may be, but could they make for a sweet charm instead?_

Jill imagines Mrs. Redfield laughing at her own rhetorical questions, the woman couldn't fathom that her flippant little note might just save the world. Rushing into the hall Jill hurries to Mia's chambers, not even bothering to knock.

Startled at first, Mia is up from her vanity and closing the door behind her guest.

"Jill, are you well?"

"More than well, I've an idea." Jill suddenly looks around the room for any sign of Mia's husband.

"He'll be in the study another hour yet. Tell me what you know."

Jill presents the book to her, "I have your solution."

Mis looks at the page and narrows her gaze, "You mean to tell me, this weed is our key to salvation?"

"It might just be." Jill says confidently.

With a sigh, Mia returns the book, "If you're so certain, we'll give it a try. But do keep your expectations measured, this is a delicate art we've yet to master."

Jill hurries back to her room so full of glee she can hardly contain herself, to think all of this had come so quickly. And with the help of Mr. Redfield…

She is overcome with a feeling of inadequacy, quick as a whip she begins rifling through her belongings before producing one of her father's old knives. Mr. Valentine developed a habit of giving Jill his old weapons as family heirlooms, even the ones that would never fit in her lithe hands.

This particular blade was hand crafted in the orient with a pure jade handle and a sturdy steal edge. It's far too long for her to call a dagger, but it's always been one of her favorite pieces from her father. She thinks that perhaps it would find better use in the hands of someone else than at the bottom of her trunk.

Mind made up, Jill wraps it in spare parchment lying about and places it atop the book. She leaves out the strangeness of it all as she goes, thinking instead on how quickly a mind can change when given the chance to grow. Much like flowers, she supposes…

The next morning, Mia tells Ethan that she wants to send an order to the florist and he is more than willing to oblige her. Jill and Ethan depart with her wish list soon after breakfast, the man oblivious to what he really holds in his hand.

Left off at the Redfield estate, Jill makes her way not to Claire's chambers. Rather she walks purposefully to Mr. Redfield's study and is delighted to find him sat alone, reading through a letter she presumes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." She says pushing open the already ajar door just a touch.

He looks startled by her presence but stands to bow towards her nevertheless.

"It's a pleasure to see you this morning." He says beckoning her closer.

She offers the book and parcel to him once she is close enough to do so. He looks confused and hesitates to take the tribute at first.

"What's this?" He asks.

"Your mother's book back, it was helpful beyond comprehension." She clears her throat before continuing, "And the other is for you. To keep of course."

He draws his brows together, "What for?"

Jill bites her lip before speaking, "For a great many things, truly. For your help in my independent research, most of all. You have… startled me with a friendship I did not envision for myself. You've done more for me than I might have deserved given how I treated you initially. I hope that you know your trust was not displaced."

"Of course it wasn't, you are an incredible person to trust, test, and tease." He chuckles, absentmindedly opening the parcel before she can depart.

When he sees what he's been given his mouth drops open and his head shakes.

"Miss Valentine, I can't accept this."

"Then it's a particularly good thing that you were not given the choice to refuse." She says with a laugh. "It's a gift, take it."

"But this… it's too much. You must have spent a great deal on it."

"I get no use out of it, it's too big and heavy for me to even think of using it. In addition, you'll be glad to know I spent not one cent on it." She starts to walk away when he calls out.

"Is this your father's?"

She turns back towards him with a laugh, "Well, at one time yes, but now it's yours. Use it well."

With that, she leaves to Claire's bedchambers, wherein she finds Rebecca already teasing the young miss on her absence the previous morning. Mr. Redfield does appear later in the afternoon but says nothing to Jill in his brief visit. He then escorts Rebecca home, stating that he's a meeting with Colonel Burton and a few others.

Jill thinks little of this, her mind instead wanders to Mia and hoping above all hopes that this time their cure is on the right path.

In the following weeks Claire's health improves dramatically, and with it, the spirit of London rises from the ashes of anguish. Jill's yet to be asked back at the umbrella, for better or worse, the military is far too overwhelmed with the infected populace for such a venture.

As for her own attempts at a cure, Mrs. Birkin says that this newest batch looks promising. She's already tweaking the recipe from her first attempt, but the Doctor's wife has a hopeful gleam in her eye, something Jill has never seen before.

Splitting her time between the Redfields and the Birkins is an arduous task, but one she keeps up as best she's able. When she does spend the day in the laboratory she feels anxious and fearful as if something terrible is bound to happen. It is truly an escape when she spends time with Claire and Rebecca, it is more than therapeutic, it is life-saving.

Claire has insisted upon sitting in the formal parlor this particular afternoon, positive that her health will persist through tea. She does quite well, considering it is the first time she has spent much time at all outside of her room since the attack. Yet, she still retains a glassiness in her eye, she's sparse with her laughter, and her shoulders slump as the hour wanes on.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Miss Redfield?" Mr. Redfield laughs as he enters the room, hands behind his back.

"I am enjoying the company of my friends, brother. I could do without your intrusions." She waves him off.

"I believe Dr. Gaunce advised that you not waste your energy." He responds.

"I'm surprised at you! Socialization is hardly a waste." She laughs as Rebecca stands from her seat.

"I think it is time for Jill and I to depart, Claire. Allow me to return you to your chambers." Rebecca smirks.

Claire gives her a scowl, "You're supposed to be my friend."

"I am! I should very much like it if you were to remain in good health so that I am not left without you." Rebecca laughs holding out her arm to the younger girl.

"Very well." Claire rolls her eyes dramatically. Jill stands to squeeze her friend's hand before she departs.

"I suppose I must be off then, Miss Chambers has demanded it of me." Jill laughs softly to Chris.

"You are wise to heed her words." He nods but stands in the way of her exit.

"Is there anything you require of me, sir? Or do you intend to thwart Rebecca's plans?" Jill asks with another chuckle.

"Absolutely not, I could never dream of such a venture." He laughs nervously. "I uh… I…"

With a sigh he produces a parcel, gaze shifting between her and it.

"For you." He says.

"I couldn't." She says with a shake of the head.

"You can and you must." He insists, "I don't know what Claire and I would have done without you these past few weeks. Please, allow me to express my gratitude."

"It is unnecessary." She continues.

"At the least, spare my pride." He laughs, it's nervous and nearly ashamed. "My, what a familiar situation this is, is it not?"

Jill hesitates once more, but relents upon his observation, opening the package as delicately as she can, in preparation for the case that she should need to reject it. There's a jewelry box within and she nearly stops there; however, Mr. Redfield's gaze encourages her to continue.

Despite the furrow of her brow, she opens it and gasps at the sight. There lies a delicate golden chain gleaming in the light, on it hangs a frosted glass piece; reminiscent of a bottle for perfume and is even filled with what she assumes is fragrance. This realization leads Jill to realize that such a thing should be quite expensive.

"It's the latest fashion from Paris, so I've been told. A vial of poison to use against the undead." His tone is hushed, as if it were a secret.

"I can't accept this." She says.

"Please." He's reached into the box to hold up the jewelry so that the poison bottle catches the light.

Mr. Redfield doesn't ask if he can drape it on her, he merely circles her body and places it gently around her neck. His fingers trail the line of her spine as he clasps the piece, his breath cool against the flush of her skin.

"I want you to have it." He says it hardly at all. As if he did not want her to hear the words but they needed to be stated.

She reaches up to hold it, looking at how the light passes through the glass and the sloshing of poison within. So entranced is she, she does not notice his hands on her shoulders or his cheek pressing into her hair.

It takes the wayward nature of his hand, two fingers slipping just the slightest bit beneath the fabric on her shoulder, that jars her back into reality.

"Mr. Redfield!" She gasps, fighting off the embarrassment she feels at the indecency of such an action.

Even still, they do not move, aside from the offending hand that broke their trance and their faces turning towards the other.

"I…" He is impossibly close as he stutters. "That was improper of me. I apologize."

She is the one to move away, two steps towards the door before she shakes her head. Taking in a sharp breath she turns back around to face him.

"Consider it forgotten." She assures him in an attempt to regain her composure.

"Thank you… You are quicker to forgive than most would be." He says breathlessly.

Jill says nothing until Rebecca calls for her.

"I must be off." Jill resolves with a nod. "I… Thank you… For the gift."

She turns away so that her blush cannot be seen by him.

"You are welcome." He responds in equal measure.

"Goodbye." She does not await his response.

She rushes out to the main hall where Rebecca stands dressing in her outer wear. Jill pulls on her coat and they depart.

It isn't until they are about to bid another farewell that Rebecca notices the necklace.

"It's beautiful! I've seen many ladies wearing such a thing. You haven't had that on this entire time, have you?" She asks observing it.

"I… I did." Jill lies weakly. Rebecca sees right through it, however.

"I believe I recommended such a thing to a friend recently."

"Have a good day, Rebecca." Jill returns to the Winters home, far too overcome with humiliation to continue such a conversation.

God help her, what was that man doing?


	19. Ruinous Mishandling

**Here is your last reminder that I fucked up and posted the wrong chapter last week. Make sure you read "As Above So Below" chapter 17. There is A LOT of plot in there that you will need.**

**Okay, proceed!**

Off hand comments so often send Jill's blood boiling these days, she claims it is the frustration of the waiting game she finds herself a player in. Afterall, knowing that a cure could finally be at hand is exhilarating enough to warrant stress. Yet, Mrs. Birkin insists that only time will tell if this concoction truly stand firm against the T-virus. She estimates no less than a fortnight to be certain, and even then, how it will react within a human test subject is even more up in the air.

What a truly cruel predicament God has put her in this time, the stress and weight of it all is practically unbearable. The result of this stress manifests itself in her terse tone and her tendency to fly off the handle at any minor inconvenience. Mia has given her more grace than she is due, always meeting her with a calm encouragement and a quote on perseverance or patience.

To those who know not the plot with which Jill is involved, however, she is uncharacteristically on edge and they have begun to vocalize their notice of her agitation. That to include the young Miss Redfield, who's recovery seems of little consequence to her brother. The head of the household insists that the cold is too harsh for the girl to bear and has ordered her to remain house bound.

Claire notes Jill's tension nearly a week away from the New Year with a sympathetic chuckle.

"If I were not certain it is I who's been in this home for weeks on end, I'd think you were the one under house arrest." She jests lightly.

"Forgive me, Claire." Jill shakes her head slightly but says no more.

"And I must, for you and our dear Rebecca are the only reasons I've not yet been driven to insanity."

"With a brother like yours I'm surprised you've not already lost your mind." Rebecca laughs, "Would you not agree, Jill?"

"Of course, I concur." Jill chuckles, despite the ceaseless tightness of her chest and the weight of his gift around her neck.

She would deny such a truth to any who ask, but she has worn the vial of poison ever since he laid it on her skin. The frosted glass feels familiar to her by now, and sometimes she catches herself staring as the liquid within sloshes around. Rebecca and Claire have teased her on such an occurrence plenty, and their insistence that Mr. Redfield's name be a part of every conversation doesn't escape her notice. If she didn't have bigger dilemmas to think on, she might have been more volatile in her rebuttals.

"He is such a difficult man, especially as of late." Claire rolls her eyes dramatically. "Why he's gone much of the day, at work in the Umbrella, yet expects me to remain within the estate like a good little girl. If I wanted I could waltz out that door, have a day to myself about London and then return, all without his noticing."

Jill stares fiercely at Claire as she speaks, unable to comprehend the meaning of her words.

"Jill, are you well?" Rebecca asks as Claire shrinks under the scrutiny of her friend.

"He's working at the Umbrella?" Jill asks.

Claire chuckles nervously, "Yes of course, you had seen him there previously. At least, I had thought-"

"The Umbrella is operating once more?" Jill clarifies her question.

"Yes." Rebecca answers, "I've been told that it is much too dangerous for my continued work there, however. I am not surprised they kept such information from you."

Jill stands from her seat, seething at the idea that she has been discounted once again. Perhaps it is just another nod to her feminine nature, that they think her delicate and incapable of returning to work. A much more startling thought that blossoms in her mind is the wonder that someone may know of her accomplishments outside of the facility.

"Jill-"

"This is absolutely absurd!" She huffs, "These men must surely have every intention of letting _Las Plagas _take hold of their wretched bodies. I can think of no other reason why they would dissuade the likes of ourselves from helping their pathetic cause."

"Bite your tongue!" Rebecca gasps.

"Isn't it obvious? With the way they parade around, flaunting their search for a cure whilst being totally incapable in reality. If they were really intent of saving humanity, they'd take the help so willingly offered to them. We're practically on a silver platter for them and yet they scoff as if we are no more than scraps for the dogs."

Claire takes Jill's hands in an effort to calm her, "There's no reason to-"

"I have plenty of reason, _Claire_, this is the future of mankind we're fighting for. And yet, they flounder as if we're only bartering for a table setting."

Jill takes in a stuttering furious breath as she tries to regain her composure, alas, it seems a lost cause. She is livid, perhaps it is not such a worthy cause, but the idea that these men can go along so willingly to something so obviously headed towards destruction. It is madness, undeniably.

"And perhaps we are." Rebecca says sternly.

"Excuse me?" Jill asks in return.

"You act as though we are the last pillar of hope for humanity."

"You think we are not?"

"I know better." Rebecca folds her arms.

"Is that so?" Jill feels her mouth remain agape as she speaks.

"You've some strange idea in your head that the Umbrella is all humanity has left. I am sorry, madam, but that is simply not the case and you are blind for refusing to see such a thing."

Claire attempts to intercede, "Ladies, might we-"

"I beg your pardon, however, a cure _is _humanity's last hope. We cannot continue this way."

"And why not?" Rebecca asks, "Our ancestors have lived through _Las Plagas_ and we too shall endure it."

"If we don't have to, why should we even think of doing so?"

"Because there is no cure, Jill. Do you really think that the we are just one breakthrough away from discovery? You're mad if you think so! If there was a cure to be had, it would have been found by now."

"Rebecca you can't believe such a thing!" Claire gasps, clearly distraught by the idea.

"I can and I certainly do!" Rebecca's voice wavers before the tears trail down her cheeks in earnest. "I have to…"

Jill approaches Rebecca, placing her hands gently on her shoulders as she begs the question.

"What happened?"

"Tell us, Rebecca, please. We can help." Claire says in a tone that has her sounding particularly helpless.

Rebecca shakes her head. "It's not a matter that can be helped, I am returning home at the behest of my fiancé."

Claire let's out a soft, "Oh dear."

But Jill goes into a full tirade, "He cannot just force you to go where you do not wish to be."

"It is safer in the countryside." Rebecca pulls away from Jill.

"I never thought I'd hear such a thing." Claire hardly speaks as she sits on the nearest sofa, merely a spectator to the ensuing argument.

"And you'll just allow him to decide that for you?" Jill asks, harsher with her tone this time.

"It is not as though I put up much resistance, the writing is on the wall here." Rebecca retorts hotly.

"Indeed and it says we must take our stand now or all will be lost!" Jill proclaims boldly.

"I understand your anger, Miss Valentine, but not all of us can be as brave as you." Rebecca says coldly.

"How do you mean?"

"You are one to thrust yourself into any battle even and especially those you cannot hope to win. It would be admirable if you were not so determined that others do the same. It would be most wise if you too were to pack up and go home, for all the good it will do to remain in London. You'll be nothing more than an untoward distraction."

"I can assure you, with violence and vigor, that I will not cease my commitment to a vaccine until it is either found or my very breath is taken from my body. That is a solemn promise." Jill says it sternly, with a scowl that could shake an unmentionable to its core.

"Oh yes, because we are aware that prudence is not your forte. What a laugh." Rebecca waves her off, "Your insistence does not make you sound selfless, why you sound very much like-"

"Like a man?"

"Like a fool." Rebecca spits.

Jill shakes her head, "We've very different opinions of fools."

"You expect to save the world, that sounds quite foolish to me."

"I intend to _try_, lesser men than I have done more than that. It is the bare minimum in my own opinion."

"Lesser men indeed." Rebecca scoffs.

"You say our ancestors faced the horde and survived, but not all of them did. It takes mere moments for them to recruit, while mankind cannot keep pace. Our numbers will keep dwindling until we are all gone. And perhaps _we_ survive, we go on to have children, but what of their children? This is not a problem I want to leave as inheritance!"

"You must think very highly of yourself with such ideas as those." Rebecca says lowly, still allowing her tears to fall from her eyes. "You are ignorant to think you can fix the world's ills with morals."

"At least I am trying to fix the world! From where I stand, all I see are the cowards among mankind, ready for a brutal battle but fearful of progression to salvation."

"You speak of salvation as if it were achievable."

"And we shall never know unless we reach for it." Jill huffs in the midst of her fury, "I am just as terrified as you, Rebecca, believe it or not. But what I will not do, is run. I would rather have my limbs torn from my very body as I scream into the night than live knowing I did less than I am capable of. I have a great many fears, the most prominent of them all is uselessness."

Rebecca shakes her head, "You cannot possibly think there is any sense in remaining in London."

"There are seldom moments in this life where we must act, not upon sense, but upon our integrities. I for one have never felt more inclined to stay."

Rebecca finally lifts a handkerchief to wipe her eyes clear, Claire still sits by knees to her chest as she listens to the argument. Something in the room has shifted from anger to warmth as the three ladies realize their closeness. Both in friendship and circumstance, they are at an impasse that feels impossible to overcome but one that will define their fates once made.

"These are trying times, of course they are. But fear only helps us if we are spurred to something worthwhile. Perhaps that's leaving and I am wrong. Only time will tell." Jill says it when the silence if far too heavy a weight to bear.

Jill, wordlessly, bows towards the two ladies and takes her leave; neither Claire nor Rebecca make any sort of movement that inclines them to reciprocate her pleasantry. Emotion thick in her throat Jill turns the corner of the corridor only to lock eyes with the master of the house.

A figure (or perhaps two, she cannot be certain in her current state) brushes past her in the midst of her stupor. She and Mr. Redfield look at each other with gentle breath and heavy tension seemingly shared between them.

"Please excuse me." She says softly.

"Should you not wait for Mr. Winters?" He asks, equally quiet.

"I'm afraid I feel unwelcome here, Mr. Redfield."

"I certainly hope not…"

"I have made myself unwelcome, unfortunately."

"You could never."

"Please, allow me to go, sir. I just… I would like to be home." She admits feebly.

He hesitates, then holds out a hand as an offering without a word.

"It's… improper." Jill shakes her head, feeling some of her loosened curls fall from their style.

"The sun will set soon enough." He says, "It's a matter of survival."

Jill knows she should deny his advance, men and women walking together whilst unwed is an incredible scandal. Still, these are trying times… and not just with the recent outbreak. She accepts his offer, with a particularly nasty thought towards propriety, walking out of the house just as the sun settles beyond the horizon.

"Please extend my apologies to Miss Chambers as soon as you are able." Jill says once their pace has been established.

"You will not do so yourself?" He asks.

"I don't believe she will want to be speaking with me any time soon. I can't imagine that we will see each other before her departure." Jill feels her throat tighten as she thinks on it.

"I'll do no such thing." Mr. Redfield states confidently, "You have not lost a friend this day, Miss Valentine. Yourself and Miss Chambers will make amends presently, I'm certain of it. This time tomorrow you'll have worked through your differences. Please don't allow yourself to feel poorly for what has transpired."

"I was so… brash and I treated her terribly." Jill confides in him, biting back tears as best she's able.

"That is most surely not true."

"I presume you heard what was spoken."

"Indeed I did, and you are correct in all that you declared."

A part of her heart lightens at hearing his word, but she is too busy swallowing her emotion to speak.

In her stead, Mr. Redfield continues.

"Neither of you were wrong in your sentiments, and while I selfishly hope you too will return to the country for safety, I applaud your integrity. I found myself surprised by your vigor and ardency that humanity can still save itself. Optimism is so lacking these days, and I for one find your courage to feel thusly, admirable."

"What good is optimism if it leads to my alienation?"

"You have not lost the friendship of Miss Chambers, what you have done is invigorated her. Pushing others is harsh work, but it can lead to extraordinary things. Miss Chambers has allowed herself complacency in these past months, she speaks to Claire of such a truth often. For you to once again spark dissidence within her, that is praiseworthy."

"But I hurt her greatly, in her eyes I saw such pain." Jill looks towards the ground. Covering her mouth with one hand her eyes focus on the bleary reflection of lamplight against the snow.

Dear God in heaven, how Jill hates to cry. Such an action takes up her whole body, with shaking sobs and gasping breath, she has always detested such an action. But the memory of Rebecca's broken spirit clings to her so violently she can no longer ignore such a release.

As this is the case, she bites down as hard as she can to keep away the tides of pain. She can hold off, allow her tears to ripen behind her eyes as it were; albeit she cannot fend them off forever, but long enough to reach the Winters'.

"Growth is such a painful thing, but as all things, this too is necessary." As he speaks, Jill imagines his mother saying such a thing to him.

Jill envisions the woman from many a painting around the Redfield estate, cradling a much younger Mr. Redfield. Perhaps he'd been bested in combat trainings or he'd been told something particularly wicked by some local children. Regardless of the circumstance, Mrs. Redfield clutches him to her breast and speaks the sentiment with a gentle intonation. Jill's own mother might have done similarly, wiping away tears and reiterating that strength comes from hard times.

Jill spares a glance upward as the two come to a stop in the shadows between streetlamps. Mr. Redfield stands in disbelief at the sight of her, she feels positively barren and she supposes now it is impossible to hide such a thing. His hand lifts to her cheek as though he cannot control his own motions.

"Oh… This has truly cut you so deep?" His voice is uncertain as he speaks.

"I value nothing more on this Earth than my loved ones, sir." She laughs bitterly.

"What a pair we make…" He speaks as she lets out a stuttering breath. His nervous smile crumbles as the shame she feels becomes visceral, the warmth between them is enough for Jill to nearly forget it is winter about them.

With a thin breath she observes his expression, he looks at a loss and perhaps a bit frightened. Yet more embarrassment enraptures her, he's likely never seen a woman in such a state, save his sister. It is improper, every last bit of the scene; from his hand and her turmoil, to their presence together on an otherwise empty street.

With a sharp sniff to collect herself, Jill turns back towards their route. "In any case, I should have learned by now to bite my tongue. Instead I drive yet more of those dear to me away."

"I should hope you never learn to do such a thing, you would keep far too much good sense away from people." He says firmly. "We live in a time most desperate for sense and I should hate to lose your voice. It brings me such joy…"

"Mr. Redfield…" Jill takes a moment to breathe as he moves to continue their journey.

"We must make haste, Miss. If you're not careful you'll catch cold." He says it swiftly, crimson tinting his features.

"Of course… and Mr. Winters will be distraught if he reaches your estate with myself nowhere to be found." Jill agrees.

"You… Yes of course."

The remainder of their walk to the Winters' is quiet, with Jill managing to recover her composure. Once they are back Mr. Redfield attempts to lighten her burden one last time.

"I have asked that Miss Chambers accompany my sister back home, to our country estate, but they're not to leave until the week's end. You will certainly see them both before they depart."

Jill bites her lip in thought, "If they would have me, I hope so."

"Many are in want of your attention, Miss Valentine. There will be no trouble finding such a thing." He assures her.

Before she can respond, Ethan Winters erupts from the home just behind them.

"Jill! What are you doing here? I'm not meant to retrieve you for another hour yet!" He scolds in a firm tone.

Mr. Redfield begins to speak in her stead. "Please, Mr. Winters, there's no reason to-"

"Mr. Redfield?... What a surprise it is to see you here." He looks skeptically at Jill for a moment. "Why are you here?"

"I was informing Miss Valentine of all that has happened within the Umbrella since the most recent outbreak."

Jill looks at Mr. Redfield in utter shock as he speaks.

"She's been asked back just this afternoon and I wanted to ensure she is properly prepared for what chaos awaits." He gives her a tender smile as he concludes his statement.

"Oh… I was not aware she _would _be returning." Mr. Winters says, "Is this true, Jill?"

Jill nods slowly, "Indeed, I will be resuming my previous schedule."

Ethan nods once before Mia appears in the doorway.

"Jill, dear! Come inside before you catch your death!" Then she recognizes the figure beside Jill and adds, "Mr. Redfield you as well, of course. I'll have tea ready in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Winters, however I must be going." Mr. Redfield takes Jill's hand and kisses it chastely. He bids her good morrow and disappears down the street they had come. She wants to stand by, dumbfounded by what Mr. Redfield has done, but heads inside the home per her hosts request.

Mr. Redfield likely hasn't the slightest clue what he's given her, but she won't squander this opportunity. And perhaps, she'll manage to return his generosity in due time.


	20. The Downfall of Man

Jill feels a thrill inside of her that she hasn't felt in weeks as she enters the Umbrella for the first time. She feels like an intruder, a double agent, like a jaded sinner entering a church after years of transgressions. Yet it is an exhilarating type of unease, the kind that she can feed off of to harbor yet more strength.

Mia managed to inform Annette of Jill's return (even the Doctor's wife hadn't been allowed back) and gathered a list of documents to find. In addition, she has specific requests for offices to investigate should she be awarded the chance. She goes through that first day with only one man daring to question her presence.

"Miss Valentine, I'm afraid you'll find yourself quite far behind in our current projects. Nevertheless, I will see to it that you receive as many compiled documents as I can manage and any accompanying notes I can find." Colonel Burton informs upon noticing her entrance.

"You are more than kind, Colonel, I thank you." Jill smiles at him.

"Might I escort you to your desk?" He holds out his arm to which she accepts.

"Tell me, has work here slowed or quickened with all the happenings in London?"

"Oh, I think neither really. Time matters not in these halls, unfortunately." Colonel Burton shakes his head, "Our numbers yet dwindle, Miss, it will be good to have your hands at work for us once more."

"I will do all I can." She promises as they reach her work space.

There stands Mr. Redfield, speaking in his usual animated tone with Lieutenant Dewey and Captain Kennedy. Jill feels an amalgamation of embarrassment once the man's gaze flicks towards her. He saw her in such an unseemly state previously, in spite of her disagreeable manner he has helped her beyond comprehension.

"Ah, Miss Valentine, what a pleasure it is to see you here." Mr. Redfield smiles brightly at her.

"It's a pleasure to be back. For now." She quips with a tender smile cast his way.

"Ah yes, how quickly will the day devolve into chaos, I wonder?" Dewey nearly cackles at the mention.

"If we've any luck it'll be after sundown." Captain Kennedy shakes his head.

"You are swift to pin your problems on your elder self. I can't imagine he'll be grateful for such a thing." Jill says rifling through some of the documents left on her desk.

"Perhaps, but if he's so put out by it, he'll have no one to blame but himself." Dewey jests before walking away with Colonel Burton.

"If it is the case that you were wondering after Miss Redfield, I hope it will bring you comfort to know she is well. And she hopes that you will write her soon." Captain Kennedy makes mention of this as he passes yet more documents to Jill.

"That is a great comfort, Captain, and I thank you for it." She nods to give him leave of her.

"And so, all is well." Mr. Redfield laughs.

"Certainly not." Jill returns with a chuckle.

"Oh?"

"Were that true, our business here would be both fruitless and needless."

"Ah, how could I forget, the pressing matters of the horde and that staggering call of duty. Yes?"

"Your sense of humor has not suffered the brutal attacks reality has forged against it, I see."

"It never could, and I am honored that you think I am humorous."

"Is that what I said, sir?"

"That is what I chose to hear, madam."

Jill laughs again, "You wear accountability well, Mr. Redfield, one might mistake it for admittance."

"Is that so wrong a thing." He asks, still holding humor in his tone.

"Nonsense, that was not even a glimmer of an idea in my mind."

"Then, indulge me, what was gleaming there?"

"It was compliment, sir." She says plainly. His gaze softens even more as he hears those words, so much so, Jill feels the beginnings of nervousness stirring within her.

Luckily for her, before the moment can escalate, a nearby wall blasts open accompanied by small fires and corpse burnt beyond recognition.

"It's too early for this." Major Coen grumbles as he places an incredible stack of documents on Jill's desk.

"Dear sweet Jesus." Jill breathes softly as Mr. Redfield helps snuff out the flames and rescue singed papers.

"I cannot believe you willingly came back to this Miss. You must be either insane or incredibly bored." Billy shakes his head.

"Perhaps both are at war within me and neither has won out."

He laughs, "It's a good thing, I think. Keep the battle going for as long as you can manage."

"You are not-"

"My Rebecca is a resilient little thing, she is quite well. As for myself, it is not a fiancé's place to be taking sides in such a matter."

Jill feels a hitch in her breath before she speaks, "I don't think she would care much for being called little, Major."

He nods, "Indeed… I hope you will not expose my misstep."

"Only if you prove you do not deserve her wrath." Jill lets out a laugh, "And only if she will receive me after-"

"Forgive me, Miss Valentine, but for you to even consider that you have offended my betrothed is utterly preposterous." He shakes his head, "As I said, she is a resilient thing, and not one to allow a single instance to decide anything for her. Furthermore, I will be utterly shocked if you do not receive a missive in the coming weeks demanding you continue your argument until it's all sorted."

"You think that earnestly?" Jill asks.

"I am positive of such a truth."

"You speak only in truths now?"

"Indeed." He laughs, "Would you like to hear some more?"

"Should I take my chances with a soothsayer or should I get to work?" Jill asks beginning to thumb through documents.

"It is my humble opinion that you have grown quite close to our Christopher."

"Now we're on to gossip then?" Jill chuckles.

"Or is it truth?" Major Coen smirks in response.

Jill shakes her head, "Tragedy brings mankind together, as it were."

"As it were, indeed." He chuckles.

"Billy! Do you intend to spend the day chatting or will you help us?" Edward calls from the wreckage.

The Major leaves Jill then to her studies and, over the course of the next four days, manages to smuggle Annette's requested documents out of the Umbrella.

Mia looks thrilled with each delivery but a knowing look passes between them with the documents. Their luck cannot possibly hold with such a show of good fortune.

"Be very careful, Miss Valentine." Mia says softly.

Those words haunt Jill as she wakes those few mornings, nevertheless, she proceeds with her work well into the week.

Perhaps it is not a comfort she feels within her, but power in its place. She feels a surge of courage fill her when she enters the umbrella, perhaps it is the only reason she enters at all.

Mr. Redfield notes her confidence with a bold chuckle and approving glance.

"I do believe we've got our girl back, boys."

"How very brash of you to not only address me as a girl, but to claim ownership over me, sir." She returns the laugh but with a stern glare accompanying it.

"Many a man would wish more of you, Miss, we are being humble." Captain Kennedy chuckles.

"Is that what you call it?"

"Indeed." Leon snickers.

"Pardon my saying so, but it would do you well to bite your tongue, lest your compatriots turn against you." Jill passes her gaze towards Mr. Redfield who's set his jaw as the Captain spoke.

The Captain turns his head to the ground and mutters a mild, "My apologies."

"Come now, Mr. Redfield, if you intend to bully the woman in your workplace, you must know others will join in." Jill pushes the man's shoulder gently and with a laugh. "I've given up on finding offense in such tidings, it is not worth your while to be insulted."

"So you say." Mr. Redfield shakes his head slightly.

"In any case, you have become quite the optimist, Miss Valentine." Edward notes.

"Optimist, Lieutenant? Never, I am merely the only soul who still has an inclination of belief in our eventual victory."

"Yes, _optimism_, as I've said." He laughs.

Jill rolls her eyes, "You boys could stand more of such a thing, it's no wonder you accomplish so little without me."

"You are correct, madam. We need you desperately, as previously established." Mr. Redfield laughs.

"And I do so love that you have finally admitted to such a thing."

Jill would be remiss to say she doesn't feel a catching in her breath after the laugh passes through her lips. There's nothing short of adoration in the way Mr. Redfield looks at her and it might have caught her off guard once. But for some reason she feels a sense of comfort in all the chaos, perhaps something akin to warmth accompanies his presence now.

She names the feeling trust and finds herself completely satisfied with the term, even as her mind teeters with such a result.

"Are you two quite finished?"

Jill and Chris turn with synchronized gasps.

"General Wesker." Jill feels the burn of embarrassment flush her cheeks as she speaks.

"My office, Miss Valentine." He says brutally storming passed her.

The rest of the umbrella staff and their craning necks feign work as Jill regains her composure. Realizing how doe eyed and genial she must have appeared leaves her feeling nearly sick. Or perhaps the feel comes from wondering what the General will say to her.

"God help me." She mutters unconsciously as she gathers her things.

"Perhaps one of us should accompany you, Miss." Mr. Redfield suggests.

"That is conceivably one of the worst ideas I have ever heard. Waltzing into the General's office uninvited." Dewey mutters to himself before turning towards his work.

"Do be careful, Miss Valentine, the General has been brutal as of late." Captain Kennedy warns before she scurries after the General.

Once inside of the monstrosity of an office, General Wesker looks at her with a raking gaze.

"I heard of your return second hand, funny considering this is _my_ operation."

"How strange, I was told to return directly and immediately." She says nervously.

"I did not request your presence in this place."

"I merely answered the call to serve my country… Sir."

He nods in a way that feels nearly calculated, "Indeed…"

"I've these documents finished, sir." She produces the files for him to take.

"Consider it your last assignment." He tosses them onto the pile.

"I beg your pardon?" She is startled, not by his command but by his seeming disinterest.

"Your last assignment here." He says standing just an inch taller. "Your services are no longer required, we've got much more pressing matters to take care of."

"I don't understand, what could possibly be more pressing than a cure?"

He glares at her, "Look around you, Miss Valentine, the ravens have flown away from London's tower."

"London may fall, but mankind cannot."

"My, you've an infuriating optimism that has no place here." General Wesker knocks over half of the pile of documents. "You are no longer welcome in the umbrella, go home. It's over."

Perhaps it is foolish to continue down this course, but she has very little to lose. In fact, from her present stance, she has everything to gain; perhaps he will show a bit of his hand, tempted by her questioning. This is her rational reasoning, though she knows deep down she too wants a destruction of sorts. In a small secret part of her heart, she wants to see how much of himself he will unravel while she remains a bystander.

"What does the king think of such a proclamation?" She asks.

"The king has left as so many others, you however insist on remaining to wreak yet more havoc."

"Havoc, sir? No, my aim is to end _Las Plagas_, perhaps you have forgotten that mission."

The gleam in his eye makes Jill feel positively sick.

"No." He whispers it, "I've not forgotten, you are the one who knows not the enemy you face."

Jill bristles under the comment, "I know more than you think."

"You are a stupid bitch if you believe that. And here I thought you were only the former."

Jill takes the chill up her spine as a catalyst to make her exit.

"It would do you well to continue such things as leaving, Miss Valentine." General Wesker says before she walks out of his office.

Mr. Redfield remains by her desk, yet she pays him no mind. Even as he speaks she merely gathers her things and attempts walks out of the umbrella. Before she can withdraw entirely from that place of demons and evils, Mr. Redfield manages to take hold of her arm.

She gasps as she turns to face him, shaken and nearly sick to her stomach.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost." Mr. Redfield's statement drips with worry.

"No sir, I've seen something much worse and much more tangible. What I have seen is a monster."

Mr. Redfield's gaze darkens significantly. "Did he harm you?"

"Not in the physical sense, but he is a vile being." Jill shakes her head, "Worry not, I will make a swift recovery, and it would do you well to return to your duties."

"I am not certain I should work for a man who can treat anyone, especially a lady, thusly."

"Somebody has to discover a cure, Mr. Redfield."

"And with each passing day it becomes more apparent that it will not be the men in this building who do so."

"You could be wrong."

"But I won't be."

"But you could." Suddenly, Jill becomes aware of her proximity to the man. He still holds her arm and their breath intermingles just barely in the spare between them. He's warm against her skin beating out the winter chill just beyond the closest door. It scares and invigorates her to be so close to any man, but of course he's not just any man.

This is Mr. Redfield.

The only man for whom she has reconsidered her disposition on any given topic, and for whom her heart practically quakes in his presence. Never before has she felt so violently for any one person and it frightens her beyond comprehension.

"You know better, madam. You know better than any man in the world what it will take to cure _Las Plagas_. The umbrella is a cruel joke."

"You mustn't say that." She says, "Spare me of such tidings."

"I cannot and I will not. You need no such coddling, you've too much strength for that."

"What am I to do now, pray tell?"

"What you always do, you will fight back against the very thing that attacks you." He says it so confidently she nearly agrees.

"And how should I do that?"

"Find a cure, if there is one person who can do it, you must."

"I know _nothing _of medicines and sciences."

"You know enough, I know you do. You have to…" He looks lost in thought for a moment.

"My how our tables have turned, look who's the optimist now." Jill manages the jest in spite of the fear in her chest. There's no conceivable way that Mr. Redfield knows about her… independent dealings, is there?

"We _do _need you, desperately so. Please, promise me you won't give up on this god given task."

She wants to rebuke him, remind him how hopeless such a thing is, yet she does not. "I'm not the type to give up."

"I know you aren't, that's…" Before he can finish speaking he reaches out to hold the vial of poison around her neck. The token he gifted that she has yet to go one day without.

"I should be off, sir." Jill says slowly, pensively even; as if this could be the only place in the world that she is needed.

"We are creatures of habit, aren't we?" He pushes back his coats to reveal the jade handle of her father's former dagger at his belt.

"We have… we are certainly tied up in something together, sir, though I know not what that something is."

They share a breath in the silence, hesitant and staggering, before Mr. Redfield leans forward and places a tender kiss to her brow. The action startles Jill, but she does not protest to his doing so, the affection is nearly welcomed (a thought that is surely troubling if not horrifying). She feels safer with him, somehow, and that is a dangerous feeling indeed.

Such a gesture could still be written off as harmless salutations, but it treads a dangerous line that Jill cannot face in the current circumstances. Wagging tongues would run rampant if they so much as caught a glimpse of such affection being shared between them. And without a chaperone or her father's approval, it would destroy both their reputations.

"Chris! Where are you?" One of the soldiers calls off, not too far from them. Jill feels a surge of panic that they could have been seen.

"You must go now, Mr. Redfield." Jill finally takes a step away from him. "Take care, please."

She turns then and rushes off before he can open his mouth, for she would surely stay were he to speak any more. A startling realization she does her best to bury deep within her mind, there's no time for revelations of this kind.

Upon arriving back at the Winter estate, Jill is met by Mia, standing startled in the front hall by her guest's sudden appearance.

"Go fetch the young miss some water." Mia says to the servant by her side before ushering Jill into the drawing room.

"I believe I've just been fired by the Righteous Leader himself." Jill groans once they are securely alone.

"Wesker fired you?" Mia asks incredulously while thumbing through the documents Jill has brought with her.

"He did!" Jill shakes her head still aghast at the happenings of the past hour, "And he told me such terrible things."

"Sounds quite believable, for that insidious man." Mia smirks at the documents, "Annette has good reason to believe that we've finally done it."

"Well, she better hurry before Wesker decides to kill us all."

"He knows about our operation?"

"He implied such, yes." Jill confirms.

Mia bites her lip, "Come with me tomorrow morning, Jill, do not tell my husband of this recent development. Annette implied that she has something major to discuss with us in her last letter."

Jill nods slowly, "I've a terrible feeling about this, Mia."

Mrs. Winters mimics Jill's movement, "As you should."

* * *

**Well this story has quickly become apropos huh? If you're feeling stressed or just need to talk my DMs are open, remember we're in this together.**


	21. Hapless Results

Jill Valentine is not the type of person to feel defeated, yet that is the only word she knows of to describe her state the following morning. She feels very much at a loss, as if all she has done has been for naught.

Part of her thinks that what she should be feeling is nervousness, perhaps even excitement. But she sees storm clouds forming over London, as if there's a dread unfathomable just beyond the horizon. The city too bears the weight of an impossible trial as it stands upon the precipice of terrible change. Try as she might to shake away these feelings, the hopelessness remains.

Mia notices how withdrawn she seems, and, with a hand on each of Jill's shoulders, she instills a few words of wisdom.

"Have courage, we know not what God has intended for this day. It could very well be ours." She says, though her eyes show her own reservations.

"And if it is not?" Jill asks softly.

"Then we will endure, as we always have." Mia's voice wavers in confidence before she gestures to the door.

"Will we?"

"We must, it is not as though we have much in the way of choice."

Jill retains a feeling of dread deep inside of her, as they depart. She wonders where and how they could progress from this point. If this vaccine does not work, what is left? Jill cannot remain in the city without her employment and Lord knows word travels in a place like this. How long until Ethan, or worse yet, her father catch wind of the situation?

Looking at the city now, even in her dejected trance, she manages to process just how unrecognizable it is from her first impressions. The once proud beacon of civilization has crumbled to the will of desperation, now it is reminiscent of the front lines. Half abandoned half anxious, soot stained buildings add weight to the already downtrodden town.

Even calling London a town feels wrong, yet it holds the population of one.

Jill wears two swords on her back at all times and has been since the attack. In addition to the swords, she has a knife concealed beneath her skirts at each thigh, one behind her left shoulder blade, a pistol on her hip, and the vial of poison gifted to her by Mr. Redfield around her neck. She carries more bullets than she does pounds, and by God, she must look like a walking armory.

But she is not alone in the weaponized fashion trends, instead of parasols women carry muskets, and they've traded their purses for maces. The precarious nature of it all seems to have consumed the city, and Jill has no choice but to take notice of the fleeting life from the city.

Gone are the days of music and merriment for entertainments sake, now there is only brutality. It is a world of fantasy and devastation, the city is in a state of mourning; even if Jill's deepest fears tell her the fate of London has not yet begun.

The Birkin home feels eerie when Jill and Mia enter, the usual stiff air remains but the balance has shifted from confident calculation to uncertainty. Zoe's movements are stiff as she performs her duties in the front hall. Mia mutters something to her and the two embrace for a moment. Jill turns her head, as if to avoid her intrusive presence during such intimacy.

"Well? Come in. Or do you intend to idle around as if the world is already saved?" Annette taps her foot furiously by the kitchen door.

"My apologies." Jill joins the scientist at the door.

"I heard you were dismissed yesterday."

"Indeed, I was."

"Took them long enough." Mrs. Birkin says, "They've been waiting to do so for months."

"As you say."

Jill speaks no more as she blazes forward into the laboratory, her heart sinking with each step she takes. Once she settles herself in front of a spread of injections, lined up neatly and properly labeled, her throat tightens.

"I cannot believe we made it this far." Mia says softly, tucking away some stray notes into a nearby drawer.

Jill nods mutely, her fingers beginning to dance nervously on the counter-top.

"Are you alright?" Mia asks calmly.

"I think I shouldn't be." Jill admits.

"Don't be afraid, god knows we've much worse things to fear."

"We're running out of time, Mia. How much longer do I have until my father recalls me home? Or until He makes a reappearance."

"This will work, I promise you."

"You cannot promise such a thing."

"I have to, if it is not guaranteed success… I too fear the consequences of failure. So we shall have none." Mia wraps her arms loosely around Jill's shoulders. "We will endure as ever before."

"Until a storm wipes us all away." Jill thinks ruefully.

"Tell me, what is it that truly troubles you so, Miss Valentine? I daresay I've never seen you so low before."

"Hopelessness catches up with us all, I'm afraid."

In the space of silence between them, Jill finds a sense of comfort, a reverie away from all the strife she has endured thus far. There's something soothing about Mia's presence and touch, so much so Jill finds herself calming just the slightest bit.

Zoe and Annette finally join them in the lab before Jill can break their silence. Annette as stoic as ever while Mia takes Zoe's face in her hands and two share a few words. Jill tries to ignore them, once again noting the gentleness and affection the two share.

Annette notices how shriveled Jill has become and speaks. "Our developments are so promising we've entered the testing phase. Why do you look so sullen?"

Jill sighs, "We've come so far… what if it's all for naught?"

"It isn't." Annette shakes her head, "Failure isn't an option."

"God is the only one who can decide that, and he is quite cruel to have put his children through this in the first place."

"We are men, god's favorite children, while he always punishes us it is never for long." Annette promises, desperation thick in her tone. "He always gives us salvation, messiahs, hope… he will provide, as ever before."

"You are certain?"

"More than certain, I have it on good authority, and research mind you, that this vaccine works." Annette begins rattling off test results. How each of her tests that receive a preliminary vaccine which then become infected are cleared of the T-virus in a little under six hours. In the middle of this barrage of information, Jill notices Mia shackling Zoe to a nearby chair. At first, she believes this is a trick of her mind, but is undeniable after a brisk shake of her head.

"What are you doing!?" Jill demands.

"It's for our safety and hers." Mia responds, tears in her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Jill looks between the faces of these women she has come to trust. Even in the pale candlelight of the basement, she can see their own worries plain as day.

"You didn't tell her?" Annette asks.

"I wasn't certain how she would react." Mia mutters as she finishes binding Zoe to the chair.

"You're going to test this vaccine on _her_?" Jill can barely contain her shock as she moves closer to the two women.

"It might as well be done on a willing participant." Zoe says, "We must know if this vaccine works on those already infected. And I have no fear, Miss, I assure you."

"Perhaps a healthy dose of such a thing would do you good, my friend." Mia steps back slowly.

"I'm ready, Annette. Get this done before He finds out." Zoe Baker shuts her eyes and leans her head back.

Annette ensures she has the proper syringe before approaching, Jill is frantic even as Mia takes her hands and tries to calm her.

"This was going to happen eventually." Mia assures her, "There's only one way to be certain."

Jill cannot tear her eyes away from Zoe, her breath tumbling out of her. "How can you do this? There has to be another way!"

Mia takes Jill closer, holding her firmly against her breast as the injection enters Zoe's bloodstream. Jill gasps, horrified that this is the result of their reality; is humanity really so desperate as to throw caution to the wind? How reckless can they be?

Jill receives her answer mere moments later, after the agonizing anticipation of several minutes, Zoe's skin starts to bloat. Her skin begins taking on a grey sort of scaling at the sight of the injection. The woman starts to cry then, she does not scream but tears flow down her cheeks. Jill know what she must be thinking, that a true cure was too much to hope for.

Despite all of their talk, these women around her did have at the very least an ounce of fear. It is grievously unfortunate that the universe should betray their good faith, leaving in its wake an insurmountable grief that nearly brings Jill to her knees.

Then a blackness oozes out of the injection site, pure and pungent, the thickened dead blood leaks down her neck staining her pristine uniform. That is when the begging starts.

First, it comes from Jill's lips. "Stop it, please, just let it end! It's over, it didn't work!"

Mia is the one to collapse into Jill's arms, as if this whole time Mia had been begging for support instead of giving it away. She holds her dear friend as she trembles with sobs, sputtering out frantic apologies to Zoe, Jill, and God himself for what she has done.

Jill's gaze flicks towards Mrs. Birkin, the woman treads with cumbersome steps towards a nearby table. Then she lifts a knife up and stares ruefully at it before forcing her eyes shut, despite the babbling from Mia Jill hears Annette's sharp intake of breath.

"Hurry." Zoe says, voice clear despite the horror her body has become. "He is coming."

With those final words, the maid is slain by the doctor's wife, Jill regains her bearings enough to provide some comfort to Mia. Mrs. Winters is nearly faint as her consoler leads her towards the nearest bench to sit upon.

Jill produces a handkerchief for her host before she can register what Annette is saying. Knife clanking wildly as it hits the floor, Mrs. Birkin begins to back away from the body which continues to melt into black sludge.

"No, it can't be… no but it… but it did fine…" Annette mutters.

"We should go." Jill decides for them, "Zoe said that someone is coming, we need to leave before-"

"We cannot." Annette shakes her head violently, "I should have never attempted… I should have tested _more_."

The laboratory begins to fill with the stench of rotted blood and flesh, it takes much of Jill's power to swallow the emotion and disgust.

Practically choking, Jill speaks once more, "There's no time for remorse, we have to go, the rest will follow suit."

She begins gathering Lucas Baker's notebook and shoving as many loose papers into it as possible. Mia's pale empty expression slowly begins to come to, mindlessly drying her eyes she spares a glance to the remains of Zoe Baker.

Jill watches Mia cautiously, the women's face morphs between disgust, rage, disbelief, and remorse.

"Can you stand?" Jill begs the question softly. Mia nods once as her face continues to sort through her amalgamated emotional distress.

"Annette, gather your tools, we have to move." Jill states more firmly towards the still inconsolable woman.

"You don't understand."

"I know this is upsetting, but if we've any hope of continuing-"

"I have condemned my daughter to death!" Annette snarls at the younger woman. The tears running down her cheeks leave Jill aghast, her mouth gaping at the sight of yet one more stoic figure reduced to emotional wreckage.

"What?" Jill asks the question as if it is merely a breath of disbelief.

"I… I thought… It worked so well in preventative tests… I shouldn't have…"

"You injected your daughter with that!?" Jill asks

"Annette, why?" Mia asks, her broken voice revealing her doubt that such a thing could come to pass.

"Sherry is fine! It's been… days since." Annette holds onto her face stuttering a bit before Jill can intervene.

"What's done is done, we cannot change our actions now." Jill feels the pit in her stomach lurch as she approaches Annette.

Zoe's body is beyond recognition now, bloated, discolored, and truly horrific to gaze upon. Fragments of calcified bone break through the pale leathery skin, and muck that once made up her blood and insides continues to leak from several sources now.

"It works! The vaccine works! I did what had to be done…" Annette's eyes well up with tears now.

Mia is up from her seat, still distraught but determined. "Annette, we should leave, now. Get your daughter, we'll find somewhere… We'll do something…"

"My daughter is well, it's been days since the vaccine took, she's fine. I have made a cure!" Annette's voice is paradoxically booming and breathless.

"And an excellent job you did, indeed." The voice of a man interrupts their already overwhelmed conversation. "Too well of a job, I'm afraid."

Jill and the other three ladies stand in pure terror, blank faces passing glances between one another. An unspoken prayer between them all that perhaps one of them had spoken out of turn. However, the only other sound that infiltrates their shock is that of footsteps slowly descending into their chaos.


	22. The Mad Man Acts

"Husband." The word is a whisper on Annette's lips as the man concludes his descent into the lab.

His gait is far more controlled, more _elegant_ than Jill has ever seen it. As a whole, he lacks his quintessential twitching features and even the tired hunch in his shoulders has gone from his bones. This man, this Dr. Birkin, is a stronghold of a human being, and this thought makes Jill think he has lost some part of his humanity.

His stature is so jarringly different from his typical appearance Jill nearly misses the finer details of his presence. Things such as the long curved surgical blade held delicately in one hand, and the small body of his daughter clinging to his other.

"And what have we here? Hm? An entourage who will bear witness to our marital quarrels, how dreadful. Don't you agree?" He swings the blade between his fingers as he speaks.

His eyes flick to Annette, whilst she sputters silently in shock he allows the faintest ghost of a smile to find a home on his features. It's truly a chilling sight that has Jill's mind staggering to a halt.

"I asked you a question, Annette." Dr. Birkin steps closer to his bride and slowly places the edge of his blade to her ear.

Mrs. Birkin's response is lilted and soft in a way Jill has never believed her to be capable of. "William, _please_ don't-"

Before she can finish the sentiment, the doctor slices her skin open as if breaking the seal of a letter. Annette cries out, clutching her face to hold in the already gushing blood. She falters towards the nearby desk and grips the edge as soon as she's near enough, there's a truly primal fear in her eyes as she and Jill meet the other's gaze.

"Mother!" Sherry gasps in horror at the sight, yet Dr. Birkin is quick in his response.

"Hush, little one. Your mother has been very bad as of late, she deserves to be punished. Afterall, look what she did to your friend." Dr. Birkin directs his daughter towards the remains of Zoe Birkin.

The little girl screams at the scene presented to her before turning towards her father. Sherry cries furiously into his pant leg, for half a second Jill feels the pull of remembrance in her breast.

She sees her own father gently patting her curls as she cries into him, desperately hoping that he will make every last one of the world's ills fall into nothing. It's all too easy to forget that this man helped develop the disease that causes such destruction. Jill feels very much the bystander that he had proclaimed her to be as he continues to speak.

"Don't you see what you've done, Annette? You have hurt our daughter greatly." He taunts, gently albeit with a wicked bite.

"Sherry, you need to run, _now_." Annette manages to speak despite the gaping wound crippling her words.

"And where to? The streets are overrun with the horde, the only safe place in the world is right here." He responds smoothly.

"No." Mia whispers devastation sweeping her features.

"Yes, Mrs. Winters, it seems you've run out of time playing this little game of yours." With his daughter lifted into his arms, he somehow looks even more intimidating. As if he truly believes he's the one protecting the little girl from such evils as the undead and her own mother.

"But-" Jill swallows harshly before she can allow her thoughts to be vocalized.

"What was that Miss Valentine? I seem to have missed your statement, please speak up."

"You said Annette did too well a job. Presumably you meant the vaccine." Jill speaks but only focuses her attention on Sherry Birkin.

The pit in her stomach attempts to reason scenarios on how exactly to get the little one away from the impending chaos. Dr. Birkin once again distracts Jill from her pressing thoughts.

"And indeed, she has." He states, "His Righteousness is truly displeased at such a turn of events. Because of you three, he has ushered in the end of days."

"You expect me to believe he would not have done so otherwise?" Jill asks, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. One hand creeping up her arm and towards the knife concealed at her shoulder.

"Not so soon perhaps, he wanted everything to be perfect before he was to usher in a new era." Dr. Birkin inches yet closer to the young miss. "Instead, you women rushed Him, and now it is as the holy text predicted."

In an instant he's hardly an inch from her face, hand firmly grasping the dagger she'd yet to unsheathe.

He removes the blade slowly, as he speaks a soft recitation. "_People will seek death but will not find it; They will long to die, but death will elude them._ Revelations 9:6, you shall become quite familiar with this particular fate, Miss Valentine."

He turns then and throws the dagger with incredible accuracy, pinning Mia's shoulder to the nearby wall.

"Stop it!" Annette stumbles towards her husband hand still firmly clasped over her cheek. "Your quarrel is with me!"

"And what do you know about my quarrel? You seem to have turned a blind eye to your family as of late."

"I have been trying to save us, Will! I've been trying to fix this mess."

"And yet, look at us now." Dr. Birkin adjusts his hold on his daughter as he speaks. "His Righteousness demands penance for what you have done here. I have already given such atonement."

Annette looks as though she would scream if she were capable, instead she allows tears to slip down her cheeks. "No, please, no."

Jill watches is petrified horror as Dr. Birkin brushes his daughter's hair back, exposing the fair skin on her shoulder. As realization hits Jill like a storm touches land, he bites his daughter in an almost loving fashion.

Mia screams while Jill can only manage to continuing gawking at the man.

"Let us see how much faith you ladies have in your own creations. Lord knows I do." Dr. Birkin sits his daughter on the nearest bench.

The little girl looks baffled as her father pulls away, she seems to be stuck in herself much as Jill feels in that same moment.

"You monster!" Annette lashes out, managing to claw her husbands face and splattering him with her very own blood before he catches her.

One hand grips her neck and the other poises his weapon towards her middle. As cool and calculated as before her plunges the weapon into her abdomen, eliciting a gurgling cry from the woman he calls wife.

Jill's begins to fumble with her gun, the first weapon she thought to pull out after coming to, and as she does Dr. Birkin thrusts his wife off of his blade. With an unceremonious thud, Annette sinks into the floor a groan of pain falling out of her body in the process.

"We could have had a place in our new world, but you have doomed us to be separate. Either Sherry and I will live on without you, or I alone will endure."

Before he can speak further on the subject, Mia sets an assault upon him. Jumping onto his back she buries the knife previously in her own shoulder into his, then she attempts to snap his neck with only her hands.

Jill too is caught off guard by the action and all but drops her pistol as she views the brawl before her. Frankly, she hadn't given much thought to Mia as a warrior and now she sees the woman's skill is closer to that of a wild beast. Mia manages to stab the Doctor once more before she is thrown from his figure. The knife sticks out of his chest awkwardly but he pays it no mind as he approaches Mia's scrambling figure.

Wordlessly he pulls her to her feet before he stabs Mia's leg. The woman emits a trembling scream in the first few moments of contact; which only grows louder as Dr. Birkin drags the blade to hook through her leg. He releases his hold on the blade and grips at her waist before tossing her into a nearby cabinet.

When Mia's body collides with the glass and wood, the eruption of sound breaks something within Jill. Whatever strange possession held her back dissipates as Mia falls to the ground. Sputtering breaths from Mia and Annette on opposite ends of the room, combined with Sherry's crying fill the young women with an unparalleled rage.

She is finally more furious than she is shocked and manages to fire two bullets in the man's back before her can face her.

"Oh no, don't do that, you know as well as I that guns are a coward's weapon." He laughs then, a cruel inhuman laugh that Jill nearly cannot respond to.

But she is not the one responding, a ferociously determined Annette makes one last attempt to reason with the monster before them.

"Please, Will! Please don't do this. You know… You know what we are doing here is right, this is what we have been working for!"

"You fought for the wrong side. Those who choose poorly, die."

"I chose this side because I love you." Annette's broken voice wavers with the confession, "I know that I married the man who could save the world."

Dr. Birkin approaches his wife, lifts her just the slightest bit from the ground and caresses her face.

"My darling, loyal wife. I am saving the world, by riding it of you." With those final words he takes one hand and rips the wound in her gut yet more.

To add to his cruelty, he pulls out her insides until the light leaves her eyes and her blood soaks the floor through.

Jill seizes the opportunity to attack, while his back is turned she unsheathes her sword and lunges at him.

He whips around, dropping the corpse of his wife to catch the blade, although it merely slices through his palm and leaves him with three less fingers.

"Oh Miss Valentine, so brazen in your assault, don't you wish to know more about your role to play in His future?"

"I care not for any plans other than my own!" She proclaims thrusting her sword forward.

The Doctor manages to avoid such an attack. "Pity that, it is such a high honor he has bestowed upon you, I thought you might wish to be prepared before he calls you to the palace."

Jill once again thrusts her sword forward, "Stop. Talking."

She grits her teeth and makes a bold step forward, slashing as she goes. She watches in horror and in sick satisfaction as her blade cuts through his skull in a diagonal line down to his jaw. His body falls limp before her, blood gushing like a river soaking her dress and sticking to her shoes.

Slowly after her pounding heartbeat and stuttering breath calms, Jill tunes back into the world. Sherry still sits by sobbing, while Mia finally manages to sit up.

Jill rushes to her friend's side, speaking to fill the otherwise harrowing silence. "The blade is still stuck, but for now I believe it's helping the bleed."

Truly, her skills as a nurse are rudimentary at best, but she works diligently to avoid whatever must come next. Grabbing bandages and alcohol to cleanse the wound, Jill attempts to work on the worst of Mia's injuries.

However, the older woman grips Jill's wrists. "You must go, now."

"Sit back and let me-"

"Jillian Valentine listen to me!" Mia scolds firmly before taking Jill's face in her hands. "The apocalypse is here, you heard the Doctor. You are our only hope of keeping whatever madness lies outside this room as a mere battle instead of the true end of time."

"You're hurt."

"And you cannot help that!" Mia snaps, "You are a warrior, your skills are needed elsewhere."

"I cannot leave you."

"You must."

"Mia-"

"This is not a request, you have an obligation to fulfill."

Jill is startled by what Mia is implying but can only shake her head. "You don't mean that, are you even hearing yourself? You sound delusional."

"And perhaps I am, but times such as these require a bit of madness if we've any hope of survival. His Righteousness may have chosen you for some strange purpose, but he unknowingly chose the woman to end him." Mia's gaze is dark despite the pain hanging blatantly within

"You think I can?"

"I think you have no choice."

Jill and Mia sit in relative silence, the only sounds truly come from poor Sherry weeping, before either can gather the courage to speak. The young woman looks towards the little girl in question only to see her wailing over the corpses of her mother and father.

Jill hurries to her side attempting to coax her away from such an awful site. Something warm and mournful blooms in Jill's breast as she holds onto Sherry. The wetness of tears against Jill's hip makes her all the more protective.

"I will go only if I can be reassured of your safety." Jill says, her voice shaking profoundly in her chest.

"And how will you do that?" Mia asks.

Jill ponders the question as she begins leading Sherry to Mia. Wherein, the little girl collapses to the floor and into the breast of Mia. Mrs. Winters takes up the task of comforting the young one, soft hushing and lilted voice murmuring encouragement.

"Rebecca." Jill says suddenly. "She worked closely with Annette, perhaps she knows more than she let on about the vaccine. And she's quite skilled in medicinal arts… I'll find her and bring her here."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Mia asks.

"Be honest with me, Mia. Do you believe this task is feasible? Do you really think I can stop the end of time?" Jill feels positively barren before her friend, and it leaves her feeling nervous.

"I do, absolutely." Mia sighs, "I would be remiss to doubt your abilities… and Annette's. God rest her soul."

Jill looks back towards the mangled corpse of Annette. The smallest part of Jill wishes for the same fate, for all of this to end swiftly, even at the hands of a mad man.

"God rest her soul indeed." Jill says with a sigh and then, before she can stop herself, she adds. "I'm afraid."

Mia takes a moment to look at Jill kindly, such tender gentility passes between them in that time. They allow vulnerability, fear, anguish, grief, and anger to be shared between them. Never before has Jill felt so understood as she does in this moment.

"You have more courage than any single person should possibly be allowed. It is healthy to have fear, my friend." Mia assures her, placing one hand on Jill's cheek. "You're in London for one reason and one reason alone. To save the world."

Jill hesitates, shaking her head at such a notion.

"You will deliver us, because God put you here to do so. Perhaps the Anti-Christ has singled you out because he knows the truth of your power. Perhaps we have our savior before us now."

"He chose his killer." Jill reiterates.

"Whether he knew so or not." Mia affirms. "I believe in you."

Jill nods, "Find Rebecca, send her here."

"Yes. Then kill His Righteous ass." Mia pats Jill's arm to spur her movements.

Jill rises to her feet, "Take care Mia."

"You too, Jill. You're a victor, not a martyr. Remember that."

"Yes, ma'am." Jill manages a laugh before racing up the stairs. Uncertain what exactly awaits her but knowing well enough that this is a final confrontation. One way or another.


	23. Judgement Day

The streets are pure chaos when Jill emerges from the Birkin household; from the sounds of desperate screaming and squelching blood from broken bodies, to the frantic people rushing in every direction to escape the inevitable. Some, the most desperate of them, spear themselves against the pikes of nearby homes. It is then that Jill realizes, instead of the typical low groaning of the undead, they now speak.

The words are simple, in all truth, yet they are haunting and heavy on her ears.

"He has called. We do His will." They say.

Despite their separate actions, fighting against the living or marching down the street, their voices act as one. Like a true and fearsome army, the undead are a force of nature in their own right.

Jill shakes away the immediate repulsion, instead focusing her energy on her tasks.

Find Rebecca.

Get to the palace.

Kill the Anti-Christ.

A simple to-do list if she can manage to keep her head and (preferably) all of her limbs intact. After taking in one final deep breath, Jill lifts her bloodied skirts and rushes headlong into the chaos.

She is as fearsome a fighter as they come, barely bating an eye or losing a curl as she shoots and slices through the horde. She could very well be something of a legend incarnate and the world would be none the wiser.

Upon spotting the Redfield estate she easily breaks herself into the gates and waltzes up to the front door. Much to her surprise, the foreman greets her enthusiastically.

"Thank god you're here, Miss Valentine. The young mistress will have her mind eased greatly to know you are safe." He bows lowly towards her.

"I take it Miss Chambers is here as well."

"Yes, of course-"

"Where are they?" Jill demands firmly.

"Uh… Up in Miss Redfield's chambers." Hurrying past the man she takes two steps at a time and then sprints down the hall.

Thrusting the door open, Jill allows a moment of release to exit her body, to see her two dearest friends in the city safe as ever before brings her great comfort. Her relief is visibly mimicked by the other two women as realization hits them all.

"Jill!" Claire practically squeaks as she rushes to embrace her. "Oh thank the heavens you're alright! It's so awful what's going on outside and you must have seen it firsthand, how dreadful!"

"Come, sit, you must be exhausted." Rebecca says softly, "We should have water sent for you."

"There isn't time for any of that, though I thank you for your concern." Jill shuts her eyes tightly before she approaches Rebecca.

For a silent breath they hover beside one another and then Jill wraps her arms around Rebecca. In turn, Rebecca responds equally, burying her face in Jill's shoulder until they are satisfied with the contact.

"I wish… I wish this had never happened." Jill admits feebly.

"You are not the hand which weaves fate." Rebecca says.

"I wish you could be safe and at home, away from all of this chaos. I am truly sorry, to the both of you, that this is our reality to face."

"I don't like where this is going." Claire mutters.

"I came to ensure you were safe." Jill says, "But you must understand that I will fight this day. Hopefully this is the last day I must do such a thing."

"What a funny thought." Rebecca expresses with a listless breath.

"Perhaps I should rephrase then. This is the last time the undead will ravage our cities and our kind. Today is the day of reckoning for our infected brethren and it has been a long time coming." Jill sharpens her tone and narrows her gaze.

"You think this is the end of time?" Claire asks, clearly taken aback.

"I _know _it is." Jill returns.

Rebecca shakes her head, "You cannot possibly-"

"Listen to me and listen carefully because I haven't the time to repeat myself." Jill places one hand on each of their shoulders as she speaks. "I've spent the last month or so developing a vaccine against _Las Plagas _with Annette Birkin and Mia Winters. The former now lies dead in her home because our cure was successful."

The looks of bewilderment on her friends faces might have been comical given any other circumstance. Currently, however, the befuddled looks feel justified as she continues.

"Mia remains in that basement along with the vaccines and our recipe, she is grievously wounded and desperately needs help."

"Oh, dear god." Rebecca moves away from Jill upon realizing where this conversation's destination is.

"Please, just consider-"

"Consider facing that?" Rebecca points out the window towards the horror of the streets.

"You have every right to be upset with me, with the world, and hell, perhaps God himself deserves your wrath. But please, Rebecca, look at where fate has brought you. Or perhaps fate brought the war to your feet because she knew you were too sensible to follow her well laid plans!"

Both of the women in Jill's presence look towards the other, she isn't certain what the young women communicate in that gaze, so she continues her crusade.

"I cannot tell you how to act, that's a futile effort and I haven't got the willpower for such a venture. What I can tell you is that vaccine is the only tool we have in our arsenal against this unholy evil. I can tell you that if we are not careful we could lose the one key to salvation we have. I know that you, Rebecca Chambers, have the brightest scientific mind I've ever seen and it's a shame you've been smothered into silence for so long.

"For all I know today could be my last, should God take my soul back this day I cannot and will not leave behind a cure with humanity none the wiser. I'm not asking you to go now, but I am begging you to at the very least remember this work should the worst come to pass."

"Jill." Claire whispers, barely restraining her emotion.

"You know this works?" Rebecca asks cautiously.

"I know that Sherry Birkin has received the vaccine and her despicable father has attempted to infect her with the disease. Should tomorrow come and she remains unchanged, it is successful."

Claire buries her face in her hands, "Dear god."

"You will go back into this fight, Jill? Truly?" Rebecca asks.

"I have to." Jill responds.

"And where will you go?"

"I cannot tell you that." Jill decides to bite her tongue for once in her wretched life.

"Well if I'm to be at the Birkin estate where should I be expecting you from? After all is said and done, I expect you will come to us from wherever it is you're cavaliering." Rebecca begs the question as if it is an obvious thing.

"What?" Jill asks. Her voice is a fragile thing, too frightened to hope she has heard rightly and too proud to produce tears, it's an amalgamation of thick curiosity.

"Rebecca?" Claire vocalizes her own confusion.

"You're right Miss Valentine, I am here. And as much as I loath that fact, it cannot be changed. So, I too should do my part in helping _our_ cause." Rebecca takes Jill's hand and squeezes it. "I'm no warrior, but healing I can manage, I will go where I am needed and it seems you know exactly where that is."

"You're not serious." Claire gasps.

"I am."

"You have a brave heart, Miss Chambers, we are grateful to have you in this world." Jill smiles graciously at her friend, pulling her into yet another embrace.

"You said the Birkin Estate correct?"

"Yes, under the loosened floorboard in the kitchen there's a laboratory-"

"Are you bloody insane!?" Claire shouts over the other women. "You cannot waltz in here, tell us it's the end of days and then begin ordering us about as if we are soldiers to be deployed."

"We are not soldiers, Claire, we're far more useful than that." Jill says firmly, "My mother used to tell me that when God does not answer you need a woman's help. And I for one need all the help I can get."

"I cannot believe that Jill Valentine is above all else an optimist." Claire throws up her hands with an exasperated sigh.

When the men of the Umbrella jest about such things she felt that it cheapened the word but hearing it from her dearest friend completely changes the meaning.

The sentiment brings her mind back to one of her first instances with Claire. How the young woman so often finds herself consumed by darkness but chooses hope. Jill had never considered the quality to be that of her own, she had always seen herself as rather morose. Simply coasting through life as it demanded of her, rebelling in the little ways she knew herself capable.

She had never considered herself to be in rebellion against the weight of anguish. Even with so many commenting on such a thing as of late, she had always disregarded it. Perhaps, it is Jill out of all those around her who is the lark among ravens.

"I'm sorry." Jill chuckles heavily.

"Whatever for? That was a compliment… I suppose." Claire chuckles alongside her friend before shaking her head. "This is madness you know."

"I'm well aware." Jill nods.

"The unmentionables have organized and they're winning." Claire gestures to the window to prove her point.

"Clearly, that is because we stand here and not on the field." Jill manages a jest.

"You are a maddening woman." Claire rolls her eyes.

"I've been informed of this, by another Redfield as well." Jill and Claire share a look once more before the latter speaks.

"So we are going to _where,_ exactly?"

"We? Miss Redfield?" Rebecca chuckles.

"You can't expect me to let you lose in the city unaccompanied do you? It's improper… And I'm a much better combatant than you are, my dear friend. Allow me to escort you to our troubling, uncertain future."

Rebecca barks with a laugh at that, "Oh what fun we will soon embrace."

"Are you certain this is an endeavor you wish to embark on?" Jill asks.

"I'm not certain no, but I feel a sense of duty calling. Us Redfields have a problem with duty, ask my brother about it sometime. Or I might merely be selfish, yearning to include myself in useful actions such as ending the war against the undead and salvaging a cure against _Las Plagas_. Now, Rebecca, our destination?"

Rebecca shakes her head, "The Birkin estate, it's not far from here."

"We're to heal Mrs. Winters." Claire begins to list their expectations with a vibrant twinkle in her eye that has been long absent. "Protect Sherry Birkin and recover the vaccine. Should the chance arise, we could save the world while we're at it."

"My, is that all?" Rebecca chuckles, "Your brother will kill me if I allow you to leave the estate."

"My brother is a concern for tomorrow, now we've another focus." Claire claims.

"Whatever we do, we must hurry. Night is falling fast and I've some significant ground to cover." Jill states firmly.

"You never told us where you're going." Rebecca reminds her.

"I didn't."

"At least tell us what you intend to do while we prepare ourselves for battle. And do take more ammunition, Jill, you'll be needing it I imagine." Claire says as the ladies set to work preparing for the war outside their doorstep.

"Let us say that I intend to cut off the Hydra's head for once and for all." Jill leans into the conversation only slightly as they enter the armory.

"You think you can accomplish such a feat alone?" Rebecca asks cautiously.

"I know I can, because I must. When one is backed into a corner, only one way is certain." Jill responds in kind.

The foreman stands by, baffled by the ladies arming themselves for the war, but every time he attempts to speak Claire tells him to keep silent. They will not be swayed, not by god or man, nor fire and brimstone. The end of the world might come with the next sunrise, and they refuse to remain complacent in the narrative.

Before they exit the estate Jill takes the two of them in her arms.

"Whatever happens, I am grateful for the trust you've put in me. And of course our friendship."

"We'll have plenty of time for goodbyes in our old age, Jill. Once the story of this day has been told to every ear that will bend our way, only then will I entertain an emotional parting." Claire says firmly.

Rebecca nods, clearly uneasy at the thought of what is to come, Jill agrees silently before taking her leave of the estate.

As the two women head off in a separate direction, Jill says a Hail Mary, hoping the heavenly mother will guard her dear friends.

For a brief moment Jill ponders saying a prayer for herself, in tandem with this thought she slices a simpering zombie in half. Smirking at the circumstance, Jill chooses to believe that she has her own divine providence right in the palm of her hand.


	24. Partner

Blood coats the blade of Jill's sword, the bottoms of her shoes, and clings furiously to every inch of exposed skin she has begun to bear during her footslog through London. The nearly black muck reminds her of Zoe Baker's corpse, even as the color grows deeper and more harrowing when the sun falls from the sky.

Jill's own blood froze when she caught the last wink of sunlight before it fully disappeared from view. Despite her best efforts, she could not fend off the thought that might very well be her last dose of sunshine. Stowing away such a troubling thought, Jill continues towards her destination as fearlessly as she can manage.

Which is to say, that the refined lady and warrior acts with more grace than she usually feels the need to emit. Somehow, her added elegance inspires a vigor of pride within her, for all one knows her mother might even have found pride in the sheer poise she exudes. There's a daring beauty to her combat that she has never acknowledged before and she takes great pride in this fact.

As she grows closer to her destination she notices the battle thicken significantly, both with soldiers and their foes. The beasts have forgotten their previous neglect of her and now exude pure wrath when attacking her. Jill has no qualms with this new development and indulges their wish to end their pitiful existences.

So stuck in her own world is she, that when she finally looks at her surroundings, she is startled by the tide of battle. No streetlighters could manage the trek to do their good work and therefore the only light produced is by those small glowing windows from desperate survivors hoping to wait out the war. There are a sparse few lanterns hanging above as if to light a stage, but the darkness is smothering to say the least.

Jill cannot discern the difference between piles of corpses and clumps of snow. The hot puffs of air from her lips quickly join the weighty mist engulfing the city, the crescendo of groans from the living and otherwise leaves her feeling overwhelmed. Even if she's theoretically broken through the surface, she feels more like she's drowning than ever before.

Desperately trying to return to herself, Jill steels herself with one last sweeping observation. This however, renders her bewildered once again. Her eyes focusing on the most troubling sight she's ever born witness too; and God has been particularly cruel with what he has chosen for her eyes to behold.

She sees Chris Redfield locked in combat with an unmentionable, both of whom are armed and wielding their swords with fierce intention. The undead looks to be a recently turned soldier, and his skill does not betray this observation. The two are locked against the other, allowing Jill a moment of shock that a zombie is capable of swordsmanship.

She starts towards the pair, fist full of skirt and sword as she runs at a perilous pace. Mr. Redfield is forced back, falling forward with the weight of the assault, his very breath gone from his chest. The monster takes the opportunity and leaps above the man, sword ready to slash down as if to release a pair of wings from his back.

Jill catches the creature before the attack is made, tackling the beast to the ground. In a moment of inelegance, she frantically removes the head with a jagged gash across its neck. As a finale, she kicks the appendage away, the last bit of untouched flesh rips with the force before it tumbles down the road.

Reclaiming her sense of control, Jill turns towards Mr. Redfield, the man slowly recovering from what he's just been involved.

She cannot stop herself before she is launching her body towards the him; unabashedly throwing her arms around his neck the second she's close enough. He catches her with an uneasy grace, as if the two were linked by their own hivemind, despite the panic in their throats.

"Are you hurt?" She asks, cheek pressed firmly to his chest.

Jill savors the warmth of his body against her and revels in the feeling of his coat closing around her. In the midst of chaos, the presence of a trusted companion is enough to soothe even the most frantic of minds.

"I am well, what of you?" Mr. Redfield pulls away from her grasp. One hand lifts to her jaw as he continues to speak. "What are you doing here, Miss?"

"You know me better than that by now." Jill tells him.

"I hope to be wrong." He claims weakly.

Despite the darkness, Jill can see his worry plain and simple, from the crease of his forehead to the glint of sadness in his gaze.

"Might I try to convince you to seek shelter?"

"We both know that would be a futile effort."

"Miss Valentine-"

She might as well beg, "Don't waste your time."

"_Please._" He lowers his forehead to hers. His desperation manifesting physically in the tightness of his knuckles and heavy weight of his mind resting on hers.

"Come with me." Jill says before she can think twice.

"What?" He asks.

For a moment, she evaluates the situation as it stands and in that instance of revelation she feels her heart ache. She's pulled and endeared towards him in a most frightening way, how could she ever begin to decipher, let alone explain her feelings?

"Somehow, in all of this mess, you have not only become dear to me but you are perhaps the only person I trust without question." Jill speaks softly, but even in the chaos around them it is undeniable that he hears her.

Mr. Redfield is clearly taken aback and is uncharacteristically perplexed as she continues her plea.

"You're a smart man, you must know that this is no ordinary battle, this could be the end of days if I don't intervene. But I'm not blind enough to think I can accomplish this feat alone. Come with me, I need your help to stop this."

Mr. Redfield finally breaks her gaze, "I can't stand the idea of you thrusting yourself into harm's way."

"How can I be safe if the world ends? I care not for my safety, I don't _want_ to be safe, I want a better world." Jill continues moving herself to meet his eyes once more. "I will not beg you to follow me, but you must know with or without you by my side I will pursue this endeavor."

Mr. Redfield takes a glance at their surroundings, Jill too breaks their isolation to hear the screams and cries of war. The sharp scent of soot fills her senses, still there seems to be nothing more in the world than herself and the man before her. Perhaps it's the lack of light or sense, but in this space there is only enough room for two souls. One full of far too much hope, and the other still undecided.

"You must know no man, god, philosophy, or catastrophe will stop me."

"And you've encountered all of these obstacles this night, I take it?" He scoffs bitterly.

"Yet more await."

What befalls them cannot rightly be named quiet, but it is something akin to empty sorts of sounds. Whispering wind, water lapping against the earth, the wings of a bird mid flight; and this too is just as nature intended them. At the least, that is what speaks to Jill's soul as she waits for him to speak.

"Where will you go?" He asks.

"The palace." She responds in a hush.

"Why? We are laying siege to the House of Lord and Commons, that is where the unmentionables have set up their stronghold."

"I care not for what the masses have established, I aim to reach their king of kings."

He narrows his gaze, "You intend to fight their lamb of Christ. Seven eyes and all?"

"How else should we hope to succeed when false prophets walk among us?"

"It will be perilous."

"Indeed."

"Have you got a plan?"

"Kill the damn thing." She shrugs half-heartedly.

"Not one for specifics." He manages a chuckle.

"I don't want to encourage a blind willfulness to follow my own path. These things require flexibility." She claims with equal humor.

"This is ridiculous." He shakes his head.

"You have very little faith in the grand design."

"I have faith in something much grander."

"You do?"

"I have every last bit of faith in you, Miss Valentine." He says with a smile.

"Is this where we part ways then, Mr. Redfield? You instilling your faith and trust in me?" She does her best to will the warmth in her chest to come from the tatters of her coat.

"Absolutely not, we're partners now, wherever you go I will follow. Dutifully and religiously, until my dying breath."

"That may come sooner than you think."

"Or later than _you_ think."

Jill turns then, perhaps the heat within her became too much to bear or the tolling bell alerting her to the late hour shook her very being. Whatever the case, she lifts her skirts and hurries off in the direction of the palace.

"Keep pace, if you can!" She calls behind her before slicing an unmentionable in half.

"I intend to try!" He returns with a laugh.

She holds onto that, his laughter that sounds more like a familiar tune than ever before. The city's disarray feels less intimidating with a partner at her side, she feels practically unconquerable.

"What will we do once we reach the palace?" Mr. Redfield asks as he ends a short duel with an armed unmentionable.

"I'll go in first, I'm an expected guest of honor for His Righteousness. You'll follow in after." Jill instructs, hardly sparing a glance over her shoulder before stabbing an approaching undead in the throat.

"You intend to go in alone and relegate me to spy work?" He asks, practically floored by the thought.

"I do hope your eavesdropping skills are half as refined as mine." She chuckles, "It's a warrior's skill, after all."

"You don't think I should be by your side then?" He asks, shooting an approaching beast with little investment and hardly even a glance to aim.

"This Anti-Christ has had an interest in me since my arrival here, I must know his motives before we kill him. I can't trust you'll listen before attempting to run him through, nor that he will engage in conversation should I have you beside me."

Jill takes pause in the conversation to annihilate a group of five beasts.

"So I'm a liability?" He chuckles once more.

"Indeed." She sends a smirk towards him, then springs to her hands to decapitate an approaching zombie with her feet.

"I'm uncertain if I should be wounded or honored madam."

"That is your decision I'm afraid, do let me know once your mind is made up."

He reaches over her head to stab an unmentionable and then sends it flying from his blade towards another group of creatures.

"Now then, we've infiltrated the castle, heard the reason to his madness, and then?"

"We kill him of course."

"My favorite part."

"Good things come to those who wait." Jill manages the comment before the explosion of a nearby bridge. The sound is cataclysmic and the ground too shakes with vigor, it feels as though the battle must halt in order for proper attention to be paid.

In the pause Jill feels the hand of Mr. Redfield take hers, she cannot stop herself from ensuring her fingers hold as much of him as possible.

She hears a soft mutter of agreement towards her last statement. Her heart drums against her ribcage at the sentiment.

Without releasing her hold, she runs headlong towards their destination, they've wasted plenty of time already. The spectacle of the fallen bridge litters and lights the remainder of their journey to the palace. A faint glow from the destruction gives a haunting sickly yellow tinge to the otherwise purple world.

It seems the horde has thinned significantly, although that could be a trick of her mind or even their proximity to the thickest part of the fray.

Whatever the case, the palace stands as a beacon in the chaos. The gates hang open like loosened curtains and it is so quiet she questions if the world has already ended in this perfect spot. The creeping tendrils of doubt try desperately to capture her, to keep her stagnant and complacent in the face of such a task. Turning back now is unthinkable, even if the case should be that this is wrong in every sense of the word.

Taking in a hitched breath Jill turns to her ally.

"You will follow, but not directly."

Mr. Redfield closes his eyes, "As you command."

"And don't… Don't get caught up in something else, I-"

"I won't."

"I need you."

His hand raises to her neck and cradles her head gently. "I will be with you, do what you must without fear for me or my wandering intentions, apparently."

She nods whist he gives his own jest recognition.

"Please, tell me this is right." She isn't certain why she asks, but she's desperate for his answer.

"I know better than to doubt you, my… friend."

She swallows that word and nods again. "This could all end. The apocalypse, _Las Plagas_, life as we know it… Something ends here and I have to know that you believe in this."

"I believe in you."

"Stop saying that."

"It's true."

"But-"

"Don't you trust your partner?" He asks.

There have been many a time that Mr. Redfield has left her without words or breath, but this might be the first time she has an answer without question.

"Absolutely."

"Then we should not waste time." He nudges her ahead, "Do not be afraid, Miss Valentine, you are not alone."

The church bells ring out as Jill turns away from Mr. Redfield, still unable to get a proper hold of her breath but reassured, if only slightly.

She does then what she has always done, blaze a trail forward towards the end of the world.


	25. The Witching Hour

Despite having been vacated by the king nearly two months prior, the palace is running as if it is any ordinary day. That is not to say Jill has even an inkling of the goings on within the palace, but there is no denying that this building is the precise opposite of abandoned.

His Righteousness has wasted no time in recruiting some of his army in the maintenance of his palace. Jill watches in resigned dismay as undead go about the hall lighting candles and dusting furniture. Apparently even the leader of an undead army can't stand an untidy home.

"Good evening, madam." A skeletal man with a crooked smile approaches her, the bite on his neck left unabashedly present. "We were beginning to think you'd abandoned the city. But His Righteousness knew best, as ever before."

Jill shakes her head, uncertain if she should speak or stab the creature.

"Come, he awaits your presence." The man turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the nearest staircase. Jill holds her sword firmly as she follows him through the building. Her eyes dance along the golds and fine silks adorning each and every crevice of the palace. Were this any other circumstance, she'd be honored to walk the halls of the king's fine home, in such an instance as this, however, it feels entirely tarnished.

They come upon the throne room where the undead man holds the door open to her.

Jill passes by him in silence as she unceremoniously enters the chambers. She finds herself in the throne room, everything from the rugs to the windows overlooking the gardens some four-stories below are magnificent and grand beyond comparison.

A warm wash of nerves floats through Jill's skin, tingling the tips of her fingers as she takes a turn about the hall. The marble floors click beneath her feet and echo off of the impossibly high walls, this feels more like a dream than a battle ground. She recalls the sentiments of Colonel Burton one night long ago, _A battlefield is so rarely on a field. More often than not, it is a parlor which has the honor of hosting such intimate things as brawls._

Jill turns towards the voice with a grimace, "What's a performance without a pretender?"

General Wesker balks at the comment. "Why it is no show at all, we've got a fool lined up for later on in the production, my dear. Worry not."

He sits in the throne with his last syllable the smile on his face is that of the cat who got the cream.

"So this, farce then, it's orchestrated I take it?"

"Indeed."

"By your hand, I presume."

"My, my, what a clever little pest you are."

"And what should I call you in our current state, hm? Conductor? King?"

"God." He responds.

"Such a simple word you'd think it truth."

"Honesty is funny in that way." Jill watches the sneer on General Wesker's features grow before he speaks, "Come now, Miss Valentine. I thought you knew more than I could ever know."

"I am always willing to further educate myself with the opinions of others, and I find myself lacking clarity as of late."

He takes a seat upon the throne while she inches closer. "Did I not make myself clear in my intentions?"

"Which intentions? The one where you plan to take over the world with the undead? I believe that was made clear, what I lack comprehension of is the reason I have been called to your side."

"You still believe them to be undead, and that is where your beliefs are flawed. They are not undead, at least those within my control are not. They have the privilege of finding themselves are under my influence."

"And those who aren't?"

He chuckles, "_They _are undead."

Jill lets out a low growl, "And therefore you too must be infected, in order to control them."

"Oh you do think so often, and that is precisely your problem. Infected is hardly what men call empowered, enlightened even."

"We will have to agree to disagree on that front, I'm afraid." Jill says.

"You've yet to ask the most interesting question of all, what is holding your tongue?"

"I beg your pardon, I know not what you speak of." Jill entices him further. He sits forward in his chair with a positively wretched grin.

"Why did I call you here, don't you wish to know?"

"I've my own theory on the matter." Jill recalls Mia's voice at the mention.

"It's all very simple, Miss Valentine, I cannot make up my mind on how best to kill you." He says with a chuckle, "I could always frame you as a martyr, the one last hope for humanity falling to God's rightfully chosen ruler. Should I make a show of it all? Or is it better to have you fade away into the obscure depths of human history?"

Jill wonders if she should be honored that this man seems to think she is the only one capable of ending his plans. He'd called her humanity's last hope, what could have brought him to such a conclusion she isn't certain, and she isn't entirely convinced it matters.

But there is still something amiss within his statement that has Jill doubtful of his words.

"Why? What am I to you but a thorn in your side?" Jill takes another step forward as she speaks. "You singled me out to begin with, for what purpose?"

"That was my doing, darling." The distinct voice that joins their conversation nearly startles Jill out of her skin.

"Mrs. Wong?" Jill manages the name as the woman reveals herself from the shadows.

"I'm so glad you decided to join us, after what happened to that trite little maid, I thought we might have scared you off." Mrs. Wong laughs as she approaches Jill. "But of course not, I should have never doubted you."

"You…" Jill cannot manage to speak as she tries to process this revelation.

"Me." Mrs. Wong loosens the strings on her cloak to reveal her finest sparing clothes. Jill wonders if she had them commissioned for this very moment.

"How are you involved in this?"

"I do hope this isn't too complex a story for you to follow. My father created the T-virus. I married well to change my name and fund my own projects, I'd say I've done well for myself." She points towards the horizon where smoke billows above the city.

"For what purpose could you possibly-"

"Purpose! What a word, and oh so very unnecessary. It's simple things, isn't it? Money, power, control, all the while playing make believe that I am in fact a god? It's far too much fun."

Jill feels the heat of rage begin to build within her. "Fun? You caused _this_ for fun?"

"And why not?" Mrs. Wong shrugs. "I am the real face of the _Anti_-_Christ_ you seek. And, might I add, I dislike such a moniker greatly."

"So, you hold the strings for the purse and the operation."

"Don't forget those for my kingdom." Mrs. Wong reveals a glimmering gun from its holster.

"You are more than a monster."

Mrs. Wong gives her a sympathetic sort of look as she approaches, "Oh Robert has tainted you, such a pity, you'd have made a wonderful general for my army."

"You had hoped to recruit me?" Jill can't help but laugh.

"It was a thought, yes, and I've many of those. I've a great many thoughts on how best to kill you as well. I don't think even my imagination can fathom the wonder I'll feel presenting your corpse to that bastard father of yours, however."

"You intended to kill him then, you wanted him in the city." Jill says it, but still finds herself in disbelief.

"Of course I wanted to kill him myself, but killing you will be the next best thing. Robbing men of all they care for in this world, crushing ones spirit is better by far to killing their mortal body."

"What could he have possibly done to you that warrants such hatred?" Jill asks.

Mrs. Wong tuts her tongue walking yet closer, then places the barrel of the gun just beneath her chin. The cold metal tilts Jill's gaze to meet the even colder eyes of Mrs. Wong, and a smile of pure amusement.

"Many things, most of which a starry-eyed child could never understand. You needn't worry about such problems as those, you'll be free of your father's burden soon."

Mrs. Wong snarls, quickly using the gun not to shoot rather to smack Jill, scraping her cheekbone enough to draw blood.

"You've made fools out of every man in this damn country, but you won't make a fool of me." Mrs. Wong promises.

A gun shot rings out, but it is not Jill who receives the bullet, instead Mrs. Wong stumbles away, gripping her shoulder.

"I was getting to you Chris, could you not wait one moment?" Mrs. Wong growls.

Jill finally gathers herself enough to bear her sword and ready her gun while Mr. Redfield enters the room. His gun is still raised as he enters, a scowl deep set in his features.

The General finally comes to attention, as if beckoned by the harm done to his mistress.

"Oh Chris, you'll be sorry for that." The Generals voice is lower than usual and a rumble in his chest emerges in his tone that Jill cannot quite place.

"Indeed, my lovely general is testing out our newest toy. I do hope you'll enjoy playing with it." Mrs. Wong takes another step back as General Wesker begins to stalk towards him.

"Any doubts that you're a liability, now?" Jill cannot keep the comment to herself as she raises her gun.

"Not the time." Mr. Redfield bites back, taking a shot at the General.

General Wesker evades the bullet completely, shocking Jill as she takes her own attempt at a shot. The man dodges this second bullet with just as much grace as before. At first, Jill blames his quickness on a trick of her mind, there's no conceivable way a human could possess such dexterity.

It isn't until he dodges two more bullets and he stands before her that she fully recognizes Mrs. Wong's meaning. Whatever infects the General is not merely mind control, it's power unthinkable and horror incarnate.

Jill feels his hand wrap around her neck, the immediacy of the fear she feels nearly blinds her to any action she performs. She can hear herself choking, is aware of her feet kicking as he lifts her off the ground, but she's convinced that nothing could break his iron grip.

Jill sees the butt of Mr. Redfield's rifle smack into the side of General Wesker's head, the relief of air flowing back down her throat once more brings tears to her eyes. A burst of pain envelopes her knees when she hits the floor, her vision blurs but she manages to remain conscious.

The sound of gunfire is undeniable, even in the moments it takes her to regain her bearings. Never in her life has she encountered such an attack, and the realization makes her red with fury. She takes in her surroundings once she's able, watching Mr. Redfield's fight with the General, studying their movements as they both engage in swordsmanship.

Just as she begins to rouse, she turns her attention to Mrs. Wong sitting on the throne, enraptured by the chaos she's caused.

Jill unsheathes a dagger and sends it flying towards Ada, the woman barely moves in time to avoid being stabbed and she glares ruthlessly in response.

"What? Is the General too much for you little dear?"

"Face me, unless you really are the coward I once named you as." Jill snarls.

"Are you trying to taunt me?" Mrs. Wong stands with a flourish.

"You had hoped your lover would wear me down so that you could take the killing blow. You know I've defeated you once before in combat so you will not face me, _that_ is surely a coward's way." Jill spits, approaching the throne with the sentiment.

Mrs. Wong unsheathes her sword to face Jill. "You know nothing of cowardice."

"_You_ are doing well to teach me." Jill lunges at the woman.

Sword clattering aggressively against each other, Jill bears down for a vicious battle. Their previous spat at the umbrella was mere child's play compared to the sheer brutality of this attack. A throne room should never bear witness to such intense destruction, Jill thinks on how this in many circumstances might be seen as desecration. A sacred space tainted by blood and the death of a false God, is such a strange scene, yet this is what is laid before her.

Still, her target is resilient, at first Jill does her best to mask her slight jabs and wayward thrusts of her blade. Then it becomes apparent that her opponent is steeled against her, the only way out of this incessant repetition is to somehow break the cycle.

Jill is far more exhausted than her counterpart from the hours of battle she's faced previously. Knowing this, Jill takes her chances, attempting to disarm Ada with a savage attack.

Brutally, Mrs. Wong deflects the assault grappling for Jill's sword in the frenzy. Jill hears the metal hit the ground but before she can search for where the weapon landed, Mrs. Wong's sword slices at her arm the burning cut is far more intense than it should be. Jill lets out a cry as she allows herself to panic thinking of all the poisons a woman like Mrs. Wong could be in possession of.

"Thank you for your excellent feedback, dear. I thought that this acid might be lesser than poison, but with a reaction like that I'm quite chuffed. Perhaps I should call for more, won't that be a delightful way to die?" Mrs. Wong then lifts her foot to kick Jill directly in the chest.

Jill slips back onto the floor, there's a sharp pain as her head bounces off the marble, rendering her incapacitated for a short period. It's long enough for Mrs. Wong to pin her hands to the ground and taunt her.

"Poor little darling, are you hurt?" She digs her nails into Jill's skin, but the younger woman refuses to react. "At least make this fun for me, scream for your life. Beg me not to do it, a woman like you shouldn't go quietly. Leave this world like the squawking infant you are."

"I'm going no where!" Jill spits at the woman above her, testing to see if her legs can move beneath the woman's weight. It's a fruitless effort, but she needs time to think of some way out of this. She does her best to fight back, even though it feels fruitless, like she is trying to punch and scream in the deepest depths of the ocean.

"You don't know what you're trying to do." Mrs. Wong attempts to reason with Jill.

"Whatever comes, I will manage, as _always_." Jill tries to thrash in an attempt to break free, but Mrs. Wong takes Jill's head and smashes it back into the ground.

"If you kill me they'll be mindless, they'll rampage the streets without a leader."

"Not when they're dead too." Jill promises.

"Another will succeed me." Mrs. Wong claims.

Jill shakes her head, "I'm afraid your name will be lost to history, an unfortunate consequence of undue behavior, madam."

Mrs. Wong jerks her knee into Jill's side and the latter woman has to bite back a shout.

"Hm, resilient little thing… Why don't we take a moment to observe your dear Christopher then. Maybe this will help you see what is proper behavior at this juncture." Mrs. Wong moves one hand to push Jill's head towards the nearby window.

Despite her want to refuse her attacker, Jill gives a wide eyed gaze to the scene presented to her. Mr. Redfield is held by his neck, General Wesker has morphed into a half-man half-creature that only legends could have envisioned. The General's arms belong on a beast, they're larger than his body with thorn-like spines protruding out of the black sludge replacing his skin. His morphing body reminds Jill of Zoe's corpse, but in reverse, gaining power instead of losing everything.

"Now, look at that, your little toy of a man fighting back against mine. That is what we should be doing, I wouldn't want to let you live too long after he's _dead_. Even I'm not so cruel as to leave you to that fate."

An inner, animalistic rage emerges from within the deepest depths of her then. She uses the hand released by Mrs. Wong to grapple for her necklace.

As soon as Ada recognizes what is about to happen, Jill has already smashed the bottle of poison against the left side of her face. The glass pools in her hand, but Jill can only focus on the site itself, she managed to catch most of the woman's eye and cheek. A dark part of her hopes glass imbedded itself in Mrs. Wong's eye, all she can hope for is this woman's agony.

Jill feels herself growl, digging her nails into her assailant's skin as if it will help to quell the rage within her. Blood and poison leak out between her fingers and Mrs. Wong begins to scream. It's a musical sound, that scream, and even as she revels in it, Jill lifts the woman thrusting her away.

Jill's body forces her to regain her bearings; gathering her sword from the ground then taking a long breath before even allowing her eyes to return to Mr. Redfield.

A guttural ferocious sound emerges from her, it sounds vaguely like _no_ to her own ears. However, all of her senses are narrowed in on one goal, and hearing her own voice is inconsequential.

Running as fast as she ever has, Jill dives straight into the creature. Arms wrapping around his torso, the force of her body sends them toppling over and crashing out of the window.


	26. Deliverance

The fall is much slower than Jill would have thought, four stories down should be a quick thing or so she thinks. Instead it feels like eternity as the General writhes and she releases her grip on him.

It ends eventually, she falls on top of the General, head crashing into his chest before she rebounds. She lands on her back the second time, pain blooms in her chest and her eyes blur while she tries to come back to herself.

Once she is finally able to regain her footing she is met with more monster than man, she finds herself thoroughly frightened and uncertain of what to do. The workers have done their jobs and lit the lanterns all around so that the monster before her can be undeniable.

He's grown at least a foot, each of his injuries sparking the growth of a tentacle just as black and writhing as the last. His eyes glow red, and where her head crashed against his chest now blazes orange and pulsates as if his heart erupted from beneath the skin.

He reaches for her, his snake like arm elongating so that he hardly moves at all. Jill lifts herself and rushes out of his reach, managing to keep her footing as she races into the greenery but stumbling as she goes.

"Here I am offering you my precious time and you waste it by running around." Wesker calls out, his voice still normal despite the horror of his body.

Jill looks around frantically loading her gun as she tries to formulate a plan. Before she can decide on a course of action, the man hurls himself after her and jumps in her way.

With a gasp and a stumble back Jill manages to shoot his heart.

"Now, now, no need for that." The General gives a laugh before using his tentacle arm to smack her halfway into the garden, she lands at the base of the large pool. Among the flowers is a reprieve of a fountain, surrounded by a few stone benches and large statues standing at the four cardinal directions.

She's limited knowledge of palaces to be perfectly honest. She knows only what her eyes have beheld and what little information was divulged to her by Mrs. Wong. And perhaps that is all she needs…

"You should have stayed out of all this, girl." Wesker says stalking towards her, the glint in his eye akin to the devil himself.

"And ruin your mistress's plans? I could never." Jill claims, hiking her skirts whilst taking another shot at the heart.

Wesker stumbles back, giving her the opportunity to rush down one of the walkways. Her mind runs much faster than her feet, she must return to the palace proper if she's any hope at all. That is if her plans are to come into existence as she intends for them. She starts to pray as fervently as she can that she has not been led astray.

"I am the one in control, do not doubt that!" Wesker calls after her. She can hear his attack and manages a swift dodge.

"Really? I'd have never guessed." She taunts again reaching her intended target.

"The human race requires judgement." Wesker's arm slams her once more, crashing her body into the nearest window of the palace. Several undead servants scatter away from her as if they know better than to get in the way of their master on the hunt.

Jill props herself up glancing between the two choices she has to run towards.

"And this is what you call judgement? Turning them into monsters like you?" Before Wesker can break himself into the palace wall, Jill sprints down the hall before her.

Feet pounding so heavily against the tile she can feel the pressure in her knees, she barrels through the corridor at an unfathomable pace. She can hear the monster behind her crash and skid behind her, it only acts to spur her feet further and faster still.

"I am no monster, those cretins would be lucky to be bestowed with such a gift." The General spots her and sets to the chase.

Jill blindly fallows the weaving path of the palace, hoping to come upon an armory or a lab of some sort. Mrs. Wong said she had more acid, if she can just find even a scrap of it perhaps she can turn the tide of this impossible battle.

There's a sound akin to the crack of a whip behind her, slashing at her back so forcefully it thrusts her into the wall before her. Landing with a painful thud against a kitchen counter, Jill pulls herself off of the table and hobbles forward. The reward for her actions is a dead end, nowhere left to turn but back towards that monster.

In a panic, she scans the room for anything to help her, but the only thing available is large bags of salt, sugar, and flour. As the General moves yet more of the wall out of his way, Jill fires a few more bullets into him, then once he's fully before her, she slices open the bag of salt and throws it haphazardly at him.

The salt burns some of her wounds during the action, but the monster is far more affected by this, screeching in pain when the contact is made. She dashes passed him and scurries down yet another hall, an armory has to be nearby. The creature left in her wake screeches as she turns to corner and she can only hope he's far enough behind to grant her some semblance of peace.

There are a few doors she passes by without a thought, but one is left slightly open at the end of this hall. She throws herself into the room and finds it full of chemicals, every kind and color imaginable.

In her haste she scans the labels, a vague familiarity fills her mind as she reads through the bottles. Her memory is jogged by colors from her time in the Umbrella, reports on which chemicals did what and color coding for those who could not remember the impossibly long names. She hears a rumble from the halls and quickens her pace.

In the back of this room she notices the most recently disturbed bottle, clear and smelling like rot. She glances over the container, reading enough to know this is the correct compound as she shoves a cork down the neck of the jug.

Wesker bursts into the room in a divine fury, his tendrils smack one shelf to the ground causing a most wretched smell to fill the room. The other shelf he lifts and throws towards the nearest wall, breaking a hole into the wall. Jill runs at the hole, it's barely big enough for her to fit and she stumbles as she goes. The burn of the chemicals still fresh in her nose, the pain quickly rises to her head causing a violent ache so demanding she nearly collapses.

Given that collapsing is not a choice, however, she runs back into the gardens. The crashing of the remaining wall echoes painfully behind her, a low growl reaches her ears as well, but her focus is intent.

Despite the pain, Jill manages to keep ahead of the creature as she enters the maintenance shed. The room is in shambles, but the main structure is sound. Wading through the mess is a simple task and she finds the pump for the fountain with relative ease. She's not a perfect scientist by any stretch of the imagination, a fact proven by her time within the umbrella, but she knows enough to understand the power of chemicals against the undead. Wesker may not be undead, per say, but most things in nature are weak to such things.

She throws the jug into the pump well, then fires three bullets into the glass, shattering it violently. Some of the chemical spits back at her, but the burning is minimal in comparison to her earlier encounter.

Once more, Wesker breaks in the wall behind her, this time snaking his arm around her wasit.

"Every day humans come one step closer to self-destruction. I'm not destroying the world, I'm saving it." His breath is hot and putrid against her already sensitive skin.

"Saving humanity from what? Ourselves? Because humanity made this infection in the first place!" Jill argues despite the panic in her throat. She still has her sword, but how can she manage to attack when his grip is that of steel?

"And they made greed, and war, and vices abound. Humanity has made all manner of things, starting with Eve who caused all of this suffering." He brings her closer still, "The world will be cleansed of sin, that original womanly sin will finally be undone."

"Are you not led by a woman?" Jill asks feeling her arm loosen in his hold, "Ada leads _you_."

"I am led by the calling of God and no other!" Wesker shakes her briefly, "The entire world will be infected! A new Genesis is at hand and I will be the creator!"

Using his erratic state, Jill bursts through his constraining hand, then exploiting the momentum of the motion, she hurdles forward, stabbing his glowing heart.

The monster wails and Jill is finally able to rush back towards the pool, her breathing erratic as she hurries away.

"You're a monster Wesker, in life and death, now the world can see what you are!" Jill taunts, begging him to follow.

"I am no monster, the monster lives in mankind alone!" He cries, barreling after her like a tiger set in the chase.

She turns to face him, this time thrusting a dagger towards him, she lands a hit in his arm but the black sludge engulfs the weapon as if it hungered for more.

"I am the second coming! I am the one who will redeem the world! I will bring us to salvation!"

Jill steels herself against the basin of the pool staring down her enemy and shooting frantically. He takes the bait, extending his arm recklessly towards her. She jumps out of his way at the last possible moment leaving his appendage to land in the pool of acid.

He lets out an inhuman scream and she cannot help the smile that forms on her lips.

"Come now, a big strong man like you couldn't possibly be outwitted by a woman!" She calls haughtily, racing along the curve of the pool.

"Indignant bitch!" He retorts viciously.

He starts to thrust himself at her haphazardly, throwing hits like a blind man as she evades his every attempt. The arm which had bathed in the acid is stunted at the length it entered the pool, and Jill allows herself to feel some semblance of hope.

She recognizes that this cannot go on forever, thus she takes her next leap of faith. Eyes landing on the statue set in the direction of the north, Jill sets herself to this new target.

Nimbly climbing the statue, she deftly avoids each of Wesker's pursuing attacks. The wind whips violently around her as she begins to question her sanity and the vitality of this plan. Still, despite her better judgement, she climbs to the tops of the statue and stares at the ground far below her.

The monster claws at her like a fire licks the edges of kindling, and she knows she's come too far. She must act even if it makes her mad. She thrusts herself from the piece unceremoniously and sails over the pool.

For the second time that night, falling feels like eternity. Her arms and legs swing wildly as if she'll catch some unseen ledge to keep her from crashing into the ground once more. Her heart skips a beat, anticipating the pain that will surely engulf her upon this landing, but there is nothing she can do now.

She lands on the ground with a hard, painful thud, if it weren't for the sheer panic of the situation she might've curled into herself to hold her aching ribs. However, instead she clutches the throbbing bones and watches as the creature sinks into the pool, screeching and thrashing as he goes.

"I can't lose, not to you!" He cries, skin and bone boiling as he melts into nothing.

"I'm afraid you have anyway, sir, what a pity that is." She quips as a form of release.

Watching the man who caused such pain in the world melt into nothing gives her such joy it could be criminal. Even if she herself is in agony, she cannot help the thrill within her.

"Jill!" She hears his voice but can hardly believe her eyes.

"Chris." She mutters just barely as he approaches on horseback.

"We have to go! The army is going to destroy the palace!" He holds out his hand to her as he dashes by.

She barely manages to hook herself onto the horse as they race out of the gardens and towards the front gates.

If she were in a better state of mind, she might call her feeling exhilaration. Having killed the Anti-Christ is no small feat and should be celebrated after all. Yet the only feeling in her gut is dread as she resigns herself to fate. How long do they have before the palace is destroyed? How long do they have before the undead throughout the palace hunt them down like frightened lambs among a pack of wolves?

She does the only thing she can, hold onto Mr. Redfield as tightly as possible and hope he can get them to safety.

It is when they reach the front gate that she slowly turns to look back at the palace. Undead are smashing through windows, groaning like the untamed beasts they are, and she can hardly take in the sight without giving a resigned sigh.

The gate is opened for them; however, the palace is surrounded by cannons and catapults standing at attention. The moment the pair is out of the gate, Mr. Redfield shouts at the soldiers to fire.

Jill buries her face into Mr. Redfield's back, bracing herself for the explosion behind them.


	27. Within the Wreckage

The absolutely deafening sound is expected, it's the wafting heat and stench of a thousand burning corpses which catches her off guard. The pair of warriors ride closer to the soldiers' encampment, yet the heat remains an impossible weight on her back and makes the pain within her all the more prominent. Once they're close enough, a few soldiers come to collect the horse, Mr. Redfield slides off with ease and then he offers a hand to her.

She takes a good look at him in that moment; he's peppered with bruises especially along his neck, his hair is unkept, and his clothes are rumpled. Somehow, he looks well and she's so unbelievably grateful for such good fortune.

She stumbles off of the horse, gripping her middle as the pain washes over her once more.

"You're hurt." He says softly, the soldiers leaving swiftly with the horse.

"It's not so severe, I promise you." She meets his worried gaze with bated breath and an encouraging half smile.

He is not reassured, however, and shakes his head. "I'm not inclined to believe you, Miss. You jumped from a damned window, down four bloody stories and… What were you thinking?"

She pauses, trying to recall if she'd had any thoughts at all during the battle, especially a portion of it that seems so long ago. The feeling of desperation festers within her, the image of him being choked by that creature disgusts and angers her once more.

She finally answers, "I couldn't let you die."

He stalls in disbelief but before he can speak Colonel Burton approaches them.

"Are you both well?" He asks, breathless as he comes to a halt.

"Well as can be expected." Jill answers, "And you Colonel? I expect you are alright."

"I am, Miss, thank you."

"What of the remainder of the city?" Mr. Redfield asks as they begin to walk through the rudimentary post.

"The horde is in retreat, by the grace of God we've finally regained the upper hand." Colonel Burton starts to give status reports on different sectors of the city.

The sun has yet to peak over the horizon, but the sky pales with light and colors with a soft mix of pink and blue above them. For the first time in days, all is calm in London, or at the least, as calm as she is capable. As the flames of the burning palace lick the highest points of the sky, the horde retreats like an owl flees from the rising sun. Jill is caught between disbelief and awe at how simple things have become.

The Colonel brings them to a map of the city laid out on a crude table. "The bridge connecting the south side to the eastern part of the city is out, but all of the others remain intact."

Jill tries her best to listen to him, but she is distracted by all that goes on around them. From her vantage point she can see the soldiers of the king's army falling into their order and the last of the straggling undead are swiftly dealt with.

Jill holds herself tightly, breath nearly stinging with cold as it enters her lungs. There's no denying her exhaustion, the gentleness of the scene beckons her to sleep, yet she mustn't give into the temptation.

Turning back to the table she notices Mr. Redfield shrugging off his outer coat.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"You're already injured, I won't have you catching a cold as well." He says, though her hands stop him from undressing further.

"You'll freeze without it." Jill argues attempting to pull the fabric back to his shoulder.

"And you're freezing now." Mr. Redfield argues back.

Hands place a thin wool blanket over her shoulders, Jill startles until she sees that it's only Richard with a calm smile.

"We've extras, Miss Valentine, don't worry." He assures her before giving the Colonel an update.

Jill pulls the fabric tighter around herself and does her best to ignore the looks of worry both Colonel Burton and Mr. Redfield give her. She attempts once more to pay attention to the discussion about the city, yet she feels the pull of pain telling her to lie down. In the midst of her inner turmoil she almost misses her host approaching the group.

"There you are!" Ethan shouts wildly. She feels embarrassment well up inside of her as she takes in his figure. He holds both a sword and a gun, with yet another gun strapped to his back, from his disheveled appearance Jill cannot deny his involvement in the battle.

"Mr. Winters." She cannot speak beyond that. So shocked is she that her host would not only fight but stands before her seething with rage, standing in idle awe all she can manage.

"Have you any idea how worried I was about you!? You and Mia both gone and a bleeding war starts outside!? What was I supposed to think!?"

"I'm sorry." She apologizes thinly as he continues to splutter furiously.

"You deliberately disobeyed me and gave not one care towards my state! I've been fighting through the horde for hours looking for you only to find that you are once again at the epicenter of it all! Miss Valentine, you have betrayed my trust once more and I hope you know your father will be hearing of this!"

"Do not speak to her that way!" Mr. Redfield shouts over Mr. Winter's raving. Jill and the others are so taken aback by his actions they are all stunned into silence.

Mr. Winters shakes himself enough to speak, "Forgive me, sir, but this business is between Jill and I. She has disregarded my requests numerous times and I do not require your input on the matter."

Mr. Redfield pushes himself in front of Jill and speaks once more. "This woman has just saved our city and you _will_ treat her respectfully, sir."

"How do you mean?" Colonel Burton asks.

"She's the reason the unmentionables are in retreat. Without her London would be lost." Mr. Redfield says.

"Miss Valentine, is this true?" Richard asks.

"General Wesker and Ada Wong were leading the undead army." Jill says as confidently as she's able. "I asked Mr. Redfield to help me in stopping them."

"Now they're both gone." Mr. Redfield concludes for her still narrowing his gaze at Ethan.

"The General is dead?" Colonel Burton asks.

"Well, yes, but he was evil." Jill justifies herself needlessly.

"No doubt, he willingly infected himself to gain more power." Mr. Redfield explains.

The men begin to talk about the implications of this, but Jill's mind flits back to Mia, Rebecca, and Claire. Her previously dissipated anxiety returns in full force. Had they survived the battle? Had the cure worked? Were they alright? Were they even alive? God has bestowed her much grace in allowing her escape from the palace, could he be gracious enough to give her a cure as well?

Suddenly her vision blurs and her hand lands heavily on the table before her, one arm holding her torso as if it is all that keeps her in one piece. She hisses through her teeth to keep her breath steady, nursing the wave of pain until she can return her focus once more.

Mr. Redfield has one hand firmly wrapped around her upper-arm, near panic in his gaze as he turns to Mr. Winters. "My estate is closer, send the doctor there."

"I am well."

"You most certainly are not."

"I'm well _enough_." She states harshly.

"I watched you throw yourself four stories down, and while I must admit I am impressed by your fortitude to even be standing, you are by no means well."

She looks at him intently, and in his eyes she can see the guilt she feels within herself. He's no reason to feel such a thing, but she cannot express that to him before her ears ring with yet another explosion. Mr. Redfield covers her with his body, but she still feels the waves of heat rolling over her skin.

"Come with me, Miss." Mr. Redfield tucks her body close to his, guiding her away from whatever chaos ensues behind them.

"I can go of my own accord, sir. If you are needed here, the journey is not far and I know the way." She weakly attempts to convince him to stay.

If she can persuade him to stay she can get herself to the Birkin Home and hopefully aid Claire. In truth, she also fears his reaction if they arrive at his estate only to find it without his sister.

"Somehow, I doubt very much you'd make it there alone. For one reason or another." He mutters the last bit as he helps her onto the horse he's procured.

Her dress is torn enough that she needn't sit sidesaddle, and despite the impropriety of it all she no longer possesses the energy to act the part of a lady. She slumps forward, her head resting on the mane of the horse as if compelled by god or a similar force.

In her momentary display of weakness she murmurs the name of his dear sister. Despite the distance in her eyes, she catches the blurry colors of flames of towards the river.

"You'll see her soon, I promise." Mr. Redfield mounts behind her, his arm wrapping around her tender middle and pulling her close to his chest.

She shakes nervously against him, her head tilting to rest against his jaw before the steed is spurred to a start. Crunching snow and frozen blood crack under the hooves of the animal, while the winter chill creeps up her spine in a most unpleasant manner. Part of her yearns to allow herself to be coddled by Mr. Redfield, to be taken home to a warm fire and ordered to bed.

The rest of her worries greatly at what he will be met with upon their arrival. Will his furry be containable? Will he lose his trust in her? Perhaps he should, but the thought of that leaves her forlorn.

His grip on her is tight and the jostling of the horse rattles her bones further. The pain is beyond aching and burns so much her blood feels impossibly hot.

She attempts to loosen his hold, weakly prying at his fingers, but he tightens his hand.

"Stop, please." She whimpers sheepishly, "It hurts."

"I'm sorry, but I don't want you to fall." He seems earnest in his apology, but his grip does not let up.

She remains quiet, they're nearing the Redfield Estate and she isn't certain she recalls how to breathe. Mr. Redfield has hurried the pace of the horse, amplifying the pain within her jostling body as he does so. Still, she bites down enough that such a feeling is not vocalized and their journey is uninterrupted.

When the estate comes into view, Jill narrows her eyes at the sight before them, it must be a trick of exhaustion playing with her mind. Four figures stand before the Redfield gates, there's a horse attached to a cart wherein the owners commiserate.

Yet Mr. Redfield speaks as if to confirm her suspicions, "What in the name of hell are they doing?"

Jill recognizes immediately that the figures are her friends, and in Mr. Redfield's distracted state, she jumps off the horse. Slipping a bit on the ice beneath her feet but maintaining her balance, Jill lifts her skirts to race towards them.

"Miss!" Mr. Redfield's voice is interrupted by a gunshot nearly piercing his head. The horse bucks and rears frantically, but Jill is unbothered as she hurries ahead.

"Rebecca!" Jill calls out once she is near enough to the cart.

"Jill?" It is Claire's voice which calls back, but Rebecca tumbles out of the cart and into Jill's arms.

"Oh dear god, are you alright?" Rebecca asks, her musket still smoking from the shot it fired.

"I am." Jill responds, looking over her friend. She seems to be well, her dress mostly dirty and her skin practically pristine aside from a smattering of small cuts.

She glances at the others, Claire looks well, as if battle hardly touched her at all, Jill imagines the splatter of dark blood on her cheek came from an unmentionable. Major Coen looks worse for wear, his eyes are dark with pain but he smiles just the same. Captain Kennedy has one shoulder bandaged and the arm hangs from a makeshift sling, still he seems to be helping as best he's able.

"I'm thrilled you're safe, I almost can't believe it." Jill tells Rebecca pulling her into another embrace.

"And we feel the same, Jill, we worried for you so." Claire takes her friend into her arms as soon as Rebecca releases her. Claire kisses Jill's cheek as they rock back and forth, even with all the pain inside of her body Jill revels in the feeling of her dear friend's arms.

The heavy beats of a horse come to a halt, and Jill assumes Mr. Redfield is what lands in the snow behind her.

"You nearly killed me." He says breathlessly to Rebecca.

"Well done." Jill chuckles into Claire's ear before they pull away.

"Indeed." Claire whispers her agreement.

"I'm so sorry, I had thought you were an unmentionable for a moment I was so frayed… Forgive me." Rebecca sighs nervously.

"What in the name of all that is good and holy are you lot doing?" Mr. Redfield gestures to the cart before them. Captain Kennedy has managed to pull a still sleeping Sherry Birkin into his good arm and Major Coen looks at him intently.

"Come help me, sir, Mrs. Winters needs help urgently and the cold can't possibly be doing her any good."

"Mrs. Winters?" Mr. Redfield rounds the cart to look at her.

"What happened? Did you find the cure?" Jill asks.

"That's what we were looking for!?" Captain Kennedy's voice could be defined as shrill before he recalls the child he carries.

"A cure? For…" Mr. Redfield looks utterly befuddled but cannot ask as he assists Major Coen in guiding Mia's wounded body out of the cart.

"I believe an explanation is in order." Captain Kennedy says rather snidely.

"Oh and it will come I'm certain." Rebecca swats at him carelessly but turns to Jill with a pointed gaze.

"Come now, we haven't got the time to bicker, and it's quite cold."

"I'll fetch the doctor." Jill tells Rebecca, mounting the unbound horse.

"Hurry." Rebecca agrees, "Mrs. Winters condition worsened on the journey."

Jill knows that doctors will be spread thin in the coming hours, her own pain is pushed further from her mind as she goes. There's not much to be said for the journey but she is swift in her return.

Upon entering the estate she has a serving girl escort the doctor to Mia.

"And Miss Valentine, Mr. Redfield and the officers are in the formal parlor." She says briefly, "I can have you-"

"I know my way, thank you." Jill assures the girl, staying to watch the doctor disappear up the stairs. For a moment she considers asking after her own injuries but deems that thought selfish and pushes it aside.

Hesitantly, Jill approaches the room, she isn't certain she has enough words within her vocabulary to explain and express all that has come to pass.

"I cannot believe you left this house to pursue something you had no knowledge of!" Mr. Redfield's voice is unrelenting in volume and anger.

"And you ran into the streets as well, brother! Don't think you did any less than I!" Claire fires back, just a viciously as the man before her.

"You not only put yourself in harms way but those whom you consider friends! It is my job-"

"It is your _job _to protect me and no more! What if you had died?!"

Jill takes the beat of silence to enter the room, all attention immediately falls to her and her knees practically give out. Colonel Burton has arrived along with Mr. Winters, and the soldiers speak in hushed tones despite the screaming of the Redfield siblings. Rebecca sits on the sofa reading through Lucas Baker's notebook all the while, hauntingly engrossed by the text.

"There you are." Mr. Winters approaches Jill in a hurry one hand on her arm and the other at her back. "Sit, I imagine the story you're about to tell us is unrelenting."

"I-"

"The doctor is here then, I take it?" Rebecca asks.

"Yes, he's upstairs." Jill nods.

"Good, good. Billy, you and Leon should be looked over as well." Rebecca moves to procure more space on the sofa for Jill.

"I agree, go on." The Colonel sends the two off on their way.

Jill feels much smaller than she thinks she should, yet the anger from Mr. Redfield and the paternal worry from Colonel Burton make her feel impossibly childish.

It's a tiresome tale to tell, but she does her best to explain without missing any details. Despite the muck of her mind she pushes through and lays bare her life until now.

Once she has told all that she knows, Claire and Rebecca begin to tell an awful tale, similar to her own. That they encountered Billy and Leon during their journey and convinced them to join their endeavor. Once they reached the Birkin home it was overrun with undead, they fought to reach Mia and Sherry only to find Dr. Birkin morphed into a monster.

No matter how many times they'd thought him dead, the doctor returned stronger than before. Eventually they had no choice but to burn the home to the ground. Rebecca reveals that she managed to recover only the notebook of Lucas Baker and some stray records that were easily available. Even knowing of their victory, Jill feels the weight of guilt fall upon her shoulders.

Her friends have been through such awful things all because they trusted her word. She can't bring herself to think of what could have happened were they any less prepared.

Mr. Winters leaves the very moment their story has concluded, hurrying to the side of his wife without delay. Jill remains in her seat, the throbbing pain in her body ebbs and flows with the weight of what has come to light. Mr. Redfield's anger has gone away, though he still looks on with a frustration in his gaze, he stays quiet.

Claire excuses herself to wash up, and almost as soon as she has left, Mr. Redfield follows after her. Jill is left with Rebecca and Colonel Burton both of whom are silent despite their expressions hinting that they are eager to ask questions.

"You are something else entirely Miss. Not woman nor man, but something else." Colonel Burton says, shaking his head with a somber smile.

"You think me inhuman then?" Jill asks softly.

Colonel Burton has no response, instead he chuckles covering his mouth with one hand.

The motion leaves Rebecca to fill in the silence, "I happen to believe that if there is a second coming, it must be within you. Afterall, you've learned to bring the dead back to us, or at the least, to halt the process."

"So it worked then? The cure is viable?" Jill nearly cannot handle the excitement of it all.

"Indeed, and the bite seems to be healing." Rebecca smiles at her. "We will need to continue observations for the next few days before anyone else receives the vaccine. Given that it will take some time to replicate what was created in that laboratory, I do not believe this is such a terrible thing. I daresay I'm hopeful at our chances."

"As am I." Jill feels her voice hitch in her throat.

"I'm afraid much of your work was unsalvageable and what is left is practically incoherent." Rebecca frustratedly gestures to the notes of Lucas Baker.

"I remember." Jill tells her, "I remember much less than Mia, of course, but I can help with the recipe."

"Please." Rebecca smiles.

"When you've finished, Miss Valentine, I'll need to speak with you privately." Colonel Burton bows to the women and takes his leave. He seems to have something on his mind but neither Jill nor Rebecca comment on it.

With that, the two ladies are left alone and the quite is positively stifling.


	28. Sated

Jill and Rebecca draw up the recipe that Jill recalls, a list of ingredients is written and sent for swiftly. Rebecca seems confident in her abilities to replicate the drug, but Jill is hesitant to believe her. It may just be the case that she worries it will be too much for her to hope for so great a fortune, but she does not indicate that to her friend.

Colonel Burton and Jill discuss many things; logistics of guiding the city towards healing, how to best defend the weakened districts, and strangest of all an apology. It's brief, as he's walking away, and Jill is touched by the gesture in spite of its awkward delivery.

She is not left alone for long as a washed and rested Rebecca returns with more questions concerning the vaccine. Jill does her best to answer each question, but she isn't as much help as she would like to be. Rebecca assures her that she's provided plenty before heading on her way.

Jill is then approached by Captain Kennedy, he too looks cleaned up and fresh from a bout of sleep. He inquires after her willingness to investigate the remains of Birkin Home. Jill agrees, albeit reluctantly, her body aches in its yearning for sleep.

Her willpower fluctuates as the sun falls from the sky, her eyes burn with need to close and her bones still tremble with staggering bouts of pain. Persistence is Jill's most prized virtue, however unfortunately and ill advised that might be, so she continues her work.

The setting sun still shines through the south window as Jill studies the map of London set up in the Redfield's parlor. Her tired eyes scan bridges, backroads, and estates for any potential weak points to be exploited by the undead.

She hears the door open just a touch but does not react to her visitor.

"Jill, how are you faring?" Claire enters the rest of the way and looks at her with concern.

"I am well, and you?"

"Very well, thank you." Claire approaches apprehensively. "Might I ask what you're doing currently?"

Jill chuckles lowly, "Oh, nothing of importance I suppose."

Claire nods, clearing her throat before speaking further. "Will you be requiring an escort home? Daylight is quickly fading and I'd hate for you to get caught in all that chaos outside, in the dark no less."

"That will be unnecessary, though I thank you for your concern." Jill stands upright and smiles at her friend.

The younger woman has bathed and slept since they last spoke. She looks refreshed, youthful even, and Jill finds herself relieved at the idea. Perhaps she has not corrupted the Redfield girl nearly as much as she'd thought.

"Are you certain? The streets have been a madhouse with all the military and supplies going through."

Jill approaches Claire, tentative with her steps as she lays her hands on the young woman's shoulders.

"I'll not be returning home just yet. The Captain has asked me to assist with the investigation at the Birkin home."

Claire shakes her head, "That's a truly terrible idea, you should be going home to rest. When was the last time you saw a bed?"

"Don't worry for me, I promise you all is well."

"And now you're a liar." Claire scoffs, "Chris told me what you did… what you did for him and all of us. My god, Jill you need a doctor not another chance for the unmentionables to bring you harm."

Jill brings one hand to Claire's cheek and hushes her gently, "It's alright Claire, I will endure and when the time comes, I'll rest. For now, I'm needed elsewhere."

"Do you hear yourself? You'll work yourself to death with talk like that and I won't have it."

"And what will you do to stop me?" Jill can't help but chuckle.

"Well… I'll tell my brother you intend on continuing the fight."

"I've no intention of fighting, I just hope to find something that remains of my work."

"Anyone can recover documents, you are not needed for this expedition."

Jill sighs and shakes her head before speaking again. "You know as well as I that a woman spending the night unattended in an empty home is positively unthinkable. Ethan has no intention of leaving Mia and she's in no condition to be moved, I have no home to go to as it stands."

"Now you care about the implications to your name." Claire laughs in disbelief.

"Oh yes, of course. I am a detriment enough to my name I require no help from ill circumstance." Jill chuckles.

"Which is why you'll be staying here." Jill jolts in surprise as Mr. Redfield's voice enters the room.

"I couldn't possibly impose-"

"You can, you will, and I daresay you must. Given that you have very little choice in the matter." He looks stern even with the smirk he wears. "I've had a room set up for you and some clothes sent for. Until Mr. Winters and his wife can return to their estate, we will house you here."

Jill shakes her head, still not quite grasping the idea. "I truly appreciate such an offer-"

"An order is not an offer, Miss Valentine." Claire chuckles beside her, "You must stay, rest… Have you even eaten today?"

"I have also asked that a bath be prepared for you, it will be ready presently." Mr. Redfield hesitates by the door before choosing to take two more steps into the room. "I believe it would be wise of you to accept, Miss. The Redfield wrath is nearly unbearable to stomach when it comes from one of us. You'll have both siblings hounding you should you refuse."

Claire lets out a laugh, "And in your state I should be doubtful of your ability to handle such a thing, for it is fearsome indeed."

Jill's cheeks burn with embarrassment but she's unable to muster the strength to argue with her new hosts.

"Very well, if only to avoid being hounded." Jill watches Mr. Redfield's smile twinge.

"Come then, you're in desperate need of that bath, dear." Claire's hands clutch Jill's upper arms as if she fears the older woman will change her mind.

Jill and Claire walk out of the room, passing Mr. Redfield as he stops to speak with the foreman upon his own exit.

Claire starts talking about a meal and how cold Jill's skin feels against her own. Jill would very much like to hear more than she does, but as they climb the steps her head becomes clouded with pain. Tears well up behind her eyes and she takes to counting the stairs as they go with the hope of leveling her breath.

She counts to ten before she nearly collapses in pain, stealing her arm back from Claire and wrapping it around herself. Her middle burns and pulses against the stays of her dress, one hand grips the cool railing and the other attempts to hold her body together.

"Chris!" Claire shouts only causing Jill to recoil more. The world is too much for her sensitive senses to handle, it's too bright, too loud, too hot, it's all too much.

Mr. Redfield has come to the front of her body somehow, he reaches for her but she shakes her head.

"Stop." She breathes with a soft gasp at the end of her demand.

"Jill please, let Chris carry you." Claire implores gently.

"No… I just need a moment."

"No, you _need_ a doctor." Claire corrects her.

Jill shakes her head weakly, breath slowly filling her aching chest.

"I understand that you're in pain, Miss, and it's frightening to be sure, but we too are frightened for you." Mr. Redfield speaks to her in such a gentle tone she has to lift her gaze to him in order to be sure the words come from his tongue.

His hand cups her cheek gingerly as he continues, "We want to help you, allow us that. _Please_."

In the momentary silence she moves her hand from the banister to his wrist, her thumb pushing the lip of his sleeve fabric. They stand together, yet it might as well be opposite ends of the room. They are staring intensely at the other, yet something akin to tenderness hangs in the air. Perhaps the rough edges of war have finally weathered their own, leaving them with nothing left to offer but softness.

She nods mutely burying her face into his should the moment she's close enough to hide away her embarrassment.

"Go, now." Mr. Redfield instructs Claire, whose footsteps quickly disappear up the staircase.

Jill unknowingly allows a sob to pass from her lips into the fabric of Mr. Redfield's coat, her tears are quickly absorbed by the fabric beneath her eyes.

"All will be well, my dear, all will be well." He assures her tenderly.

So consumed by pain is she, it's almost possible for her to ignore the diminutive. The term sticks in her mind as he brings her to the stair landing, and she can pull herself to a respectful distance. At the least, as respectful a distance such an encounter can allow.

The room which has been prepared for her is large and warm. The tub in the far corner steams and Claire is already rolling up her sleeves as they enter.

"Put her on the bed." Claire instructs.

"No." Jill shakes her head, "That's… That's too far."

Claire looks at her apprehensively but nods to her brother. "The armchair then."

Mr. Redfield approaches the chair and slowly lowers Miss Valentine onto it. She winces as her body meets it, but she retains her composure.

"I'll take care of her, Chris, you go on and wait for the doctor." Claire says to her brother.

Mr. Redfield's gaze on her is positively distraught, perhaps even fearful, but he does as instructed and closes the door behind him.

Claire starts to let down Jill's hair, her fingers nimble and considerate of Jill's aching head.

"I can wash myself." Jill tries to assure her.

"I won't have it." Claire says resolutely, "You're so tired you'll fall asleep in the tub and then you'll catch cold."

"Claire-"

"You took care of me when I was ill… allow me to return the favor, nobody deserves to have such kindness returned more than you."

"I did not do it in the hopes of procuring a favor." Jill insists, weakly loosening the buttons on her sleeves.

"And that is precisely why you deserve to be helped now… You are cherished by us Redfields, Jill, please stop fighting us. We are not your enemy."

Jill is hurt to have even insinuated that her friends are an enemy upon which she must combat.

"I'm sorry." She says feebly as the weight of her hair hits her back.

"No, don't be… You've spent your whole life being taught how to fight it's only natural to respond thusly." Claire assures her, tone lilted with apology as she moves to undress her.

Jill is stiff with pain, but more so with discomfort at the idea of Claire seeing her indisposed. The laces of her dress practically sting as they come undone and her skin prickles once they begin to touch more of the air around her.

Claire lets out a soft gasp upon seeing Jill's bare back, Jill imagines the horrifying array of bruises littering the length of her spine. The reds, blues, purples, and blacks must be something truly shocking to have elicited a reaction such as that.

The room is cold even with the steaming bath and lively fireplace, Jill can hardly imagine standing once she has been stripped. Her hands feel stiff and her bones still demand her attention with their agonizing trembling. Still she stumbles to the bath, sinking into the scalding water because at the very least she won't need to stand any longer.

Claire diligently scrubs the dirt and blood from Jill's hair, not a sound is made by either of them. Jill instead focuses on staying awake, absently scrubbing her arms to keep herself from fading away. Her muscles find a soothing ease in the water, but somehow their relaxation brings yet more pain to spread across her body.

Jill winces as her taut muscles loosen and cramp with the necessary positions of washing ones body. Claire's hand still each time she spots the dark haired girl screw up her features in discomfort. Soon they both realize there is no easy way to go about this process, and they have an unspoken agreement to complete the task as quickly as possible.

Claire makes fast work of cleaning her friend and soon the water is dark with grime. Once more, Claire shows her deft hand as she helps Jill dry off enough to dress in sleep clothes. Then, she ushers the elder woman to the fireplace, brushing Jill's hair to help it dry faster.

Jill begins to doze off, between the rhythmic strokes of the brush and the warmth of the fire, but Claire keeps her awake.

"Come now, darling, you know better than to sleep with wet hair." Claire chastises her sweetly.

"Then you should not have wet my hair." Jill retorts with a twinge in her voice as Claire pulls on a particularly tight knot.

"With all that blood you could have made a whole other person." She quips back. "And you must feel better, between the soot, sweat, blood, and dirt you must have lost five pounds."

"Hmm." Jill murmurs her agreement staring blankly into the fireplace.

"Sherry is doing well. Understandably, she's quite fearful, but her bite has only improved."

"Good…"

"Leon's wounds were not as severe as we had previously assumed." Jill only nods to Claire's comment, "Chris and Billy are also well, though I suppose they did not receive such brutal wounds."

"As Mia, you mean."

"And you… My god, Jill, you're positively battered."

Jill nods half-heartedly, "But I'm not dead."

"Somehow." Claire agrees, beginning the process of braiding Jill's hair.

"I must be particularly pathetic to elicit such gentleness from you, Claire. You and your brother both I suppose." Jill looks at her nails as she speaks, admiring their lack of grime as a way of remaining awake.

"Pathetic is hardly a word I think anyone would use to describe you." Claire chuckles.

"Then what would you say of me? A poor little thing, perhaps?"

"Oh yes." Claire continues to laugh, "You poor dear, with your broken bones and weakened muscles from killing anything that has the audacity of crossing your path."

"Pity is unbecoming." Jill comments.

"I think needing to be pitied is quite charming on you, Jill."

"So you say…"

They sit in silence until Jill dozes a little too far off for Claire's liking. The red haired girl once again spurs the conversation.

"You worried us halfway to the grave, you know."

"Who?" Jill asks, "You and Rebecca?"

"All of us, I suppose. My brother most of all." She says, "When we encountered poor Leon and Billy, they practically carried us back to the estate."

"What stopped them?"

"I'll have you know I run very quickly." Claire says with a laugh, "And I told them you had sent us."

"But not for what."

"No… Your name carries more weight than I think you realize."

"Oh yes, Jill Valentine, the woman who broke before the beasts." She scoffs.

"You mean the woman who saved humanity, that's all anyone can talk about."

"Annette made the cure."

"And you delivered us to salvation. You killed the Anti-Christ for heaven sake, give yourself a little credit."

"No." Jill says flatly.

Claire laughs in response, "Well, I suppose there really can be no winning with you, dear. You're thoroughly impossible to please."

"I'm utterly shocked that it has taken this much time in my acquaintance for you to reach that conclusion."

"Utterly?" Claire inquires.

"Totally, wholly, completely, unequivocally. Might I go on?"

"Oh no, I doubt listing synonyms will keep you awake."

"Hm…" Jill sighs once Claire ties off the end of her braid. "Is my hair sufficiently dry?"

"It is to my standards, yes." Claire kisses Jill's cheek and then removes herself from her side, watching with unease to see how Jill responds to a loss of support.

Jill's arms shake, but she remains upright as she asks. "And what now?"

"Wait here, I'll be back with Chris in just a moment."

"Absolutely not!" Jill snaps.

"And why not?" Claire retorts, hands firmly placed at her hips.

"I… I cannot allow him to see me like this." Jill feels a bashfulness overtake her.

"I doubt very much that you can make it to bed on your own."

"Then help me."

"I am, by fetching my brother." Claire says resolutely.

"It is _beyond_ improper-"

"I believe the situation is an exception to propriety, Jill."

"No." Jill says as firmly as she's able. "I don't want Chris looking at me in my nightwear it's positively indecent."

"Shall I wrap you in blankets until you're six inches thicker?" Claire asks, before her expression changes.

"You act as if you would throw away your good name simply to make something to be easier." Jill groans pushing herself to her knees, fighting against the far too consuming pain.

"You called him Chris." Claire says with a breathless laugh. Jill, realizing that she did in fact say such a thing, raises a hand nervously to her mouth.

No amount of tiredness could amount to such an improper slip of the tongue, and she is duly mortified. Jill feels her muscles shaking even as she's stopped trying to stand; she's allowed for far too many breeches in bother her moral code and that of society this day. The audacity of the situation sends bolts of shame through her.

"Jill? Jill!" Claire has a firm grip on her shoulders before the older of the two can comprehend what has happened.

She seems to have finally run out of energy, her body having lost the ability to hold her up. Claire's arms are all that keep her from falling into the fireplace.

"Chris! Chris get in here!" Claire shouts. Jill wants, in her scattered mind, to hush her friend if only to allow for silence.

Mr. Redfield appears before her, his voice a calm hush against Claire's frantic energy.

"Claire, step aside."

"Jill, stay with us, please." She hears Claire's desperation and feels the transfer of arms. Jill presumes Mr. Redfield carries her to bed, but her eyes fail to preform their task.

"Let her rest, sister, she needs it more than anything."

Jill feels his hand on her forehead before she succumbs to sleep, "Rest, my darling. All will be well."


	29. A Soldier's Triumph

Jill hears the murmurs of conversation before she opens her eyes. She's warm to the point of discomfort beneath the weight of the blankets above her and her body begins to ache with heightened soreness. Still, she listens intently to her visitors as they speak.

"I'll stay with her, you go on and have your breakfast."

"I'm fine here, brother."

"She'll wake when she's ready and not a second before, it will do you no good to wait here on bated breath."

"I expect you'll stay until I return?"

"Of course."

There's a soft rustling around the room that fades away and soon it is so quite Jill wonders if she's alone. Her body burrows slightly into the bed before she opens her eyes, the brightness of the room is a stark contrast to her previous state.

"Well, I suppose Claire will be put out I ushered her away." Mr. Redfield chuckles.

"Hmm?" Jill moans recovering her senses enough to lay her gaze on him. He looks well rested, put together even, and his smile is purely adoring.

"Did you sleep well, Miss?"

Jill nods, bringing a smile to her tired lips. "I did, thank you."

"I hope you are quite comfortable because Doctor Gaunce has given orders of strict bedrest for you."

"Are you in the business of running a hospital now, Mr. Redfield? You've patients and research for a cure all under your roof."

Mr. Redfield laughs in response, "You know that joke has been made a few times already."

"Oh, I'm sorry to have presented such stale humor." She smirks pushing a few strands of hair from her eyes.

"Not at all, I'd prefer your good humor over pained musings, I can assure you."

Jill worries her lip for a moment, allowing the waking world to settle on her shoulders further. The heat beneath the blankets is heavy and her muscles pulse against the warmth. She's sore to the point of uselessness and the pull of the bandages around her arm act as sorts of restrains.

Thinking on what had previously transpired, Jill realizes just how many questions she has. None of them, however, matter nearly so much as the first question she begs.

"You're not upset with me, are you?"

Mr. Redfield furrows his brow at her and allows a nervous chuckle to fall from his lips.

"Why would I ever be upset with you?"

Jill, perhaps realizing the precarious nature of the conversation, mutters the next bit.

"For… For encouraging Claire's involvement in the battle."

He looks at her gently then shakes his head. "You asked for Rebecca to go, not my sister. And Claire is fully capable of making her own decisions."

"Perhaps, but I'm the only reason either of them thought to leave the estate."

"… Still, I don't think I can be angry with you at this juncture. You're the only reason London isn't swarmed with undead."

"Not the only reason." Jill chuckles briefly.

"You can take credit for a large majority." Mr. Redfield assures her.

"And Mia? Is she alright?"

"She has not yet woken… We are… Hesitant to be hopeful." He hardly mutters the last bit.

Jill feels a release of delicate desperation in her own breath as the news settles. The guilt ebbing into her heart as she runs through the events that led to such a terrible fate.

"Take heart, all is not certain. She could very well-"

"Prove you all wrong? Forgive me sir, I'm afraid we're running dangerously low on miracles."

In the hesitant silence that befalls the pair, Jill tugs at the blanket around her body bringing it up closer to her chin in a feeble attempt to preserve her modesty.

Mr. Redfield, seeming to notice the action, clears his throat nervously. "Are you hungry?"

"I… What?" Jill asks, taken aback back by the out of place question.

"I-… I should have sent for a meal by now, my apologies." He's quick with a flustered bow before his exit. Jill tries to pretend the pink tinges upon the back of his neck are merely from the fabric of his clothes rubbing uncomfortably but cannot convince herself of such a thought.

An older maid with a quiet smile comes in a few moments later, helping her to sit up for a meal. Rebecca and Claire join her sometime later, the former determined to progress her work and the latter determined to do the exact opposite.

Recovery is a double edged sword for Jill, it means her body heals while the city still struggles to reclaim normalcy. Mia remains teetering on the precipice of life and death as Jill prepares to depart from London nearly two weeks later.

She'll not be travelling alone, however, with her she will bring a caravan filled with the T-virus vaccine. Even with such a victory, Jill cannot bring herself to feel anything more than hesitant relief. There is so much she still leaves unfinished in this city, and so many whom she cares for deeply will remain as well.

Ethan has hardly spoken to her since the battle, and Jill does not think ill of him for taking up silence. In spite of everything that has come to pass, she feels responsible for Mia; she runs through those moments in the basement of the Birkin home everyday with a new imagination for how the battle might've gone.

She is reluctant to enter Mia's chambers to say her goodbyes, but propriety wins out over sense. Jill can hardly stand the sight of Ethan bent over the body of his wife, yet she endures as she walks further into the room.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Winters, but I came to say goodbye." Jill feels a nervous shiver run up her spine as he turns to look at her. "And thank you for your hospitality. Truly, everything you did for me is… it cannot be understated."

He stands but does not meet her gaze. "I wish you could stay, to be here for Mia when she's better."

"As do I, but my father misses me greatly." She responds timidly.

Ethan nods, finally lifting his gaze to hers and stepping forward. "You have done great things here, Jill. I am honored to have hosted you… There's always room for you in the Winter household. You are family to us."

"I… I must apologize to you. I did not give much thought at all to how our deceit would have affected you, for that I cannot express the shame I feel."

He shakes his head, "I appreciate your words, however, they are unnecessary."

"I should have acted more appropriately." Jill argues weakly.

"I… I was harsh with you, in my attempt to be a good host and prove myself as a caretaker… I failed to see that it was you taking care of us."

"No, I should have respected your wishes. You only ever intended to ensure my safety, mine and Mia's."

"Yes, but your path was always a dangerous one. You and Mia… The two of you deserved more trust than I was willing to give." Ethan puts a hand on Jill's shoulder. "For my own lapses in judgement I hope you can forgive me."

Jill finds herself nodding vaguely before Ethan returns to his wife's side. Without an inkling of what to say next, she exits the room and strolls down to the main entrance of the house. There, Claire and Rebecca await, the two of them talking in soft tones but laughing a pitch above their conversation.

"Come to see me off, I take it?" Jill asks with a sad smile.

"Plotting, actually." Rebecca responds.

"Oh? What for?"

"How to keep you with us for at least another month, Rebecca has the lovely thought to hold you captive until her wedding and I must agree with her." Claire says resolutely.

"You two hope to hold me hostage? Will you demand ransom?" Jill chuckles.

"Of course not! If we have you under our ordinance we would be remiss to allow you leave under any circumstance." Claire takes Jill's hands and practically begs, "Please say you've reconsidered, you know Chris won't mind your continued residence at all!"

"I'm sorry, Claire, but you know that my time in London is over."

"Please promise me it is only for now that you must be gone. I will not stand for anything less than yearly visits, and even that time with you is a crime for how little it will be."

Jill chuckles before embracing her friend, "This is not a proper goodbye, we will meet again. But for now, my mother and father miss me greatly, and I them."

"She'll be back before we know it. You would be foolish to be absent from the Redfield ball, it's the highlight of the season after all." Rebecca takes her turn to kiss Jill's cheek and allow the lady to respond in kind.

"I wouldn't dare insult your good name, you will see me again. I will go now if only to assure you of my eminent return." Jill chuckles with the pair.

"I'm not certain the entirety of your traveling companions have arrived just yet. Perhaps you would like one last tea before you go?" Claire insists weakly.

"I think I should instead make certain that all of my belongings are indeed travelling with me." Jill claims with a chuckle.

"I believe Jill has caught onto your plans, Claire." Rebecca teases.

"Oh, and what are those?" Claire indulges to jest.

"To poison her of course."

"Truly?"

"Only enough so that her illness requires her continued presence in London." Claire gives a swift shove to Rebecca as the three laugh with light spot of humor.

"I will return shortly." Jill turns back up the stairs of the Redfield estate and hurries down the corridor. A part of her feels positively foolish for such a girlish endeavor, the other holds a firm belief that she must act upon her own judgement no matter how silly.

She knocks quickly upon the door and her chest aches and the sound of his voice calling out.

"Come in."

Jill steps into the office of Mr. Redfield and watches as he nearly crashes into the desk to give her a proper greeting.

"Miss Valentine! What a surprise, I thought you'd have left by now."

She feels a hitch in her throat that nearly keeps her from speaking, nevertheless, she steps forward.

"My traveling party has not been totally assembled yet. And it would be absolutely horrible of me not to say goodbye. You… you and Claire have treated me with such kindness, I want to thank you once again."

He chuckles, meeting her gaze but almost immediately averting it once more. "You speak so highly of us when it was truly an honor, madam. You are of course welcome with us anytime."

"I… I hope to see you again soon." Jill feels herself speaking but can scarcely acknowledge the words. They feel practically foreign coming off of her tongue.

His face pinkens as he gives a brief chuckle continuing to ignore her eyes on him. "As do I."

Jill feels embarrassment creeping into her spine as she stands in his office, her feet take her to the door, but her body does not move to exit. Rather, she turns back from the door and approaches once more.

"You… You never told me…"

He looks up then, practically past her as he furrows his brow, his tone is light with humor as he begs the question. "I never told you what?"

"You mentioned that you had gone to see my father before you left for London. Why?" Her throat tightens as the man before her becomes visibly shaken.

One hand reaches up to his rosy neck and rubs the skin as if to hide the blush, his voice wavers as he takes in a few tentative breaths.

"You will think me quite foolish."

"I think that is doubtful." She assures him, "I presume you had met him before this encounter."

"Of course I did, I'd have never allowed myself to be introduced to a lady who's father I had not yet met." He responds defensively. "Your father is a wise man, strong even if he called himself frail upon our introduction."

"You came to call then."

"Oh yes, he said it was a pity I could not be introduced to his wife and daughter, I don't quite remember all the details. But we spoke briefly about my estate, my experience in the fight, and the town in general."

"And what of your second meeting?" Jill asks taking yet another step forward.

Mr. Redfield worries his lip for a moment before allowing a breath of a laugh fall out of his lips. "I had… I had asked him for permission to court you."

Jill feels a swell in her chest so forceful she worries that Mr. Redfield will hear the thrum of her heart. Her face grows hot and her fingers begin to twist together, uncertain what to think but desperate to continue the conversation.

"And his response?" She begs the question.

"As I said, your father is an intelligent man; he informed me that the only one who would be making decisions after your hand would be you." Mr. Redfield looks at his desk as if to distract himself or perhaps to gather his thoughts. Whatever the case, he speaks again, "I know now that I was brash to even ask at that stage in our acquaintanceship. I cannot recall if I ever properly apologized for my impertinence at our first meeting, but I do regret my actions."

Jill nods, "I… I also have much to regret from that night, I was quite harsh upon our introduction."

"I am certain you would have been delightful had I not initially spurred you to lash out." Mr. Redfield laughs, tentatively lifting his eyes towards her and smiling just a hint more.

The heat in her blood still fills her up and the nervous pulsations of her heart make her feet feel unsteady. Even so, she continue to question, or perhaps torment, the man before her.

"And… What now?" Jill asks, closing the distance between them as she finally reaches the desk.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That was nearly a year ago, what are your feelings now?"

Mr. Redfield looks truly shocked by her question and he seemingly needs to shake his head a few times before he can speak.

"I was a fool then to propose such a thing, seeing how much you and I have grown… The infatuation I felt then was nearly nothing compared to the deep love and adoration I harbor for you now."

There is an overwhelming wash of emotion that overcomes her then, one she has never thought herself capable of. Or perhaps she had never allowed herself to feel such thing because the world she inhabited demanded total restrain and discipline. But the world she was born to is quickly vanishing however, now she feels light and silly, it's so strong she feels nearly numb with glee and she wonders why literature always deems love a refined emotion.

The love she feels is childish and demanding, overpowering all of her senses, trainings, and propriety. She wants to scream and throw herself onto the man who loves her because she wants so desperately to love him now and as long as the good lord will allow.

"And I'm sorry." Mr. Redfield continues to speak, clearly unaware of the impact he has had upon her. "I know that you are leaving now but it felt wholly improper to admit such feelings for you while you were a guest in my home. I did not want you to feel pressured to accept romantic advances in such a situation and you were unwell in addition to that. These times are so uncertain and we have been pulled in very much opposite directions-"

As the man before her rambles on she slowly lifts her hand to his cheek, smiling as gentle a smile she can muster with the chaos of emotion brewing within her. His sentence begins to slow as he registers her touch until she raises her lips to his cheek, stopping the flow of words entirely. His skin is warm in her hand and she chuckles as his jaw falls slack in her palm.

She wonders if there are more dignified words to explain her current situation than the ones she wants to say. She wants to profess her returned adoration for him in poetry and songs that she never took the time to learn. There's a part of her that curses her ignorance of such lovely things as expression of the heart, and yet she knows that this man for all his teasing would still adore her. Even if the only thing that came from her mouth was utter gibberish.

Still, Jill speaks without reserve, "You are the one person in all the world I trust without question, to give you my heart would be easy if I still had possession of it. But I am afraid you have already taken it for your own."

He lets out an unintentional gasp as he turns to face her fully. "You… You're… Miss Valentine have we been avoiding an issue we were both decided upon and in agreement?"

"I am not certain when I decided I love you, or perhaps _I _did not do the deciding so much… But I have known for quite some time. I did spend a fair bit of that time avoiding the reality, I'm afraid."

He laughs breathlessly taking hold of her hand which still caresses his cheek. "We had much to be distracted by, I'll admit…"

"You were going to let me leave without your confession?" Jill asks weakly, as if ashamed by the question.

"I… I had not wanted to, but I feared that you would not be ready to accept my affections, or worse yet, you still felt that love is not a path you wish to embark on."

"God doesn't seem to care about my wants and wishes… At the least… My opinion on love has always been that in a world where the dead walk there's no place for a such a thing. We are approaching the dawn of a world where that is not an issue."

"Indeed." Their hands have come to house the other during their conversation. Between them is a restrained air of excitement and anticipation as they come to realize what new adventure they plan to pursue.

Jill happens a glance out the window and notices the caravan she intends to head awaiting her presence.

"You'll write to me… Won't you?"

"Everyday… twice a day if you'd prefer!" He responds with a boyish grin.

Jill laughs in response, knowing she must leave but not quite ready to lose the warmth of his hands.

"Do you accept my advances, Miss Valentine? Might we say that we're entering a courtship."

She nods bashfully as she speaks, "A courtship hundreds of miles apart is a difficult thing to manage."

"And yet I imagine that this will be the easiest thing you've done in your whole life. It might just be that easy things will become our new ordinary."

"My, you certainly are hopeful."

"I have all that I could ever want knowing that my love for you has been accepted. Hope seems so attainable with you in my life."

Jill once again feels the beating of her heart as she lifts his hand to her lips. "I must be off."

"I cannot convince you to stay?" He asks with only a hint of longing in his jest.

"You must come to visit me once all this mess in London is cleaned up. The country longs for her soldiers to find rest."

"I will come to you as soon as I can, my dear. But until that day I will write you."

"Twice everyday."

"Twice everyday." He promises as she hurries out of the room and back down towards the front hall.

"Did you get lost or did you simply find half of your things left behind?" Rebecca asks with a laugh.

"My apologies, I did find a few odd things here and there. I wanted to be thorough." Jill lies, still overwhelmed by the beat of her heart and the heat of her blood.

"If I find anything else I'll be sure to send it to you, along with my letters to you of course." Claire assures her unable to resist the temptation to hug her friend once more.

"I should be off, before the day gets to be too late." Jill gives one last goodbye to her dearest friends.

"I will be giving Chris a lecture later about how rude it is not to see your house guests off. I hope you're not offended, Jill."

"As if your poor brother couldn't offend her more! The scandal." Rebecca laughs.

"It's a strange time, I understand a… lapse in propriety." Jill wonders if her blush is painfully obvious as she steps into the carriage.

"Safe travels!" Claire calls out as the cluster of carriages and soldiers begin their exit from the city. Jill feels the rush of emotion finally begin to settle down, even as her chest retains its light energy.

As the city disappears behind her, Jill begins to write her first letter to her intended.


	30. For All We Endured

Jill is not one to find solace in tripe things such as ledgers or paperwork organization. However, if this is the price to pay for a world without undead, she is more than willing to pour her life into the monotony. The months begin to melt away as she and Rebecca begin refining and distributing the T-virus vaccine all over the world.

Even with the knowledge that this discovery will lead to a period of peace, Jill's life still feels chaotic. Her father's health remains on the precipice of failure, the managing of shipments on a global scale, upkeep in her distant relationships, and processing all that had happened in London; life has never been so tiring and yet so rewarding.

Perhaps she should have realized something was off about her mother that morning, with her general lack of urgency when they were meant to be meeting with the Vickers' for a picnic. Mrs. Valentine is not one to dally, after all, and if she has a timetable to keep there can be no question about her punctuality.

Jill sits by the entryway of the estate, reading the latest news from Claire about her return to London. The young woman claims the city is practically unrecognizable from the year prior and the disarray in which she'd left it is no more. Apparently, Mrs. Rebecca Coen has whipped the Umbrella well into shape for production of the vaccine and is investing in future cures for other diseases.

_And Jill, oh we cannot wait to see you, it has been far too long. Can you believe it has been two years since the last Redfield ball! My dear, it's a scandal I tell you, I'm well aware that other matters took precedence, however, it is my opinion that merriment is a necessary partner to hard work. We've been sorely lacking in such fun and I am thrilled to finally have the opportunity to dance once more. _

_London truly feels empty without you and you're the only one who can keep Rebecca in line! Why, you'd think marriage helped her grow a spine, which, as I'm sure you know, has very much the opposite affect if the world's husbands are to be believed._

"Jill dear, don't you think you're dressed quite informally for our meeting?" Mrs. Valentine appears before her daughter, "You've had all the time in the world and your hair is still down?"

"It's an informal engagement as far as I am aware, what with your tardiness." Jill teases with a grin.

Mrs. Valentine chuckles, "Next you'll tell me loose curls are the style of the decade."

"And perhaps it will. Why, on the horizon I predict fashion will become senseless without the need for it to be practical." Jill tucks the letter away into her book as she stands.

"Oh, can you imagine? Full skirts, hair down, shoes with heals, the gall of it all."

"Shall we go?" Jill gestures to the door.

"You're in quite the rush, I've still got a few things to gather." Mrs. Valentine waves her hands as she bustles passed her mother.

"With a pace like that we'll be lucky to meet them before dusk." Jill's complaint falls on deaf ears.

She stands with her arms crossed in the foyer rattling off a list of things she could be doing as opposed to waiting around. For a moment, she considers opening the most recent of Chris's letters, but she hesitates to do so. Her mother tends to hover when she notices the handwriting of the young man, and of course, they've no hope of leaving then.

"Jill! Come here!" Her father calls from his study.

"Papa, I'm about to leave!"

"I don't care, come here!"

Jill rolls her eyes as she complies with her father's request, making certain that her last steps sound heavier as she approaches.

"In all my years, I've never known either of you to be so frivolous with time." Jill pauses as she opens the door to the study.

The breath in her chest can hardly settle as she takes in the well-traveled appearance of Mr. Redfield, though the smile he wears betrays such a sentiment.

"Mr. Redfield." Jill raises a hand to her collar, "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd surprise you. Seeing as I've an estate here to manage and… I missed you."

Jill barely recognizes that her father has approached her until he places a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Go easy on him." He says fondly before walking past her.

Shaken by the statement for a brief moment, Jill watches the door close before returning to herself.

"You should have told me you were coming." She smiles, walking forward with a sway in her step.

"I take it you're surprised then? A very good thing for me to know that you're not totally all-knowing." He chuckles. "You are pleased by my presence, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm pleased. I simply would have liked to know." Jill claims, "Claire made no mention of your travels in her letters."

"She's much too distracted by London at the present."

Jill adjusts her stance before speaking once more. "I missed you…"

"And I missed you, everyday I thought only of seeing you again." His eyes soften as he speaks, his hand reaching towards hers.

Jill breathes softly, "Time has been such a strange presence, but I am grateful it has barely touched you…"

His skin feels so familiar against hers as he places a kiss on her fingers. "You're more lovely than I remember, perhaps I should have a painting commissioned so I never again commit such a heinous crime as forgetting your beauty."

"Oh, stop it." Jill chuckles, her eye catching on the jade hilt of her father's dagger. "I see that old habits don't fade so easily."

"Of course not, it's a beautiful piece now, one that displays my status as beloved by a Valentine." He smirks.

"You were beloved by my mother the moment she discovered your existence, that is not the feat you imagine it to be." She laughs.

"I find your mother delightful."

"I did not say she was the opposite, rather that her affection is easily won."

"But yours was not." He notes playfully.

"I should hope not, if you did not pursue my friendship with such vigor I would have tired of you much quicker." She sighs meeting his gaze with a reverent smile. "Does this mean you'll be escorting me to London? For my business of course."

"I believe that would swiftly become you escorting me."

Jill rolls her eyes, "I meant my question, sir. I have every intention of leaving for London in the next week or so. It would bother me greatly if you came all this way in the hopes of pursuing some time of our courtship in person, only for us to be parted just as swiftly."

He chuckles then, his blue eyes turning towards the floor.

"I hope I have not upset you, but I felt this matter deserves to be addressed candidly." She claims.

"And I appreciate that, my dear, but you aren't making… No, it's simply no matter at all."

"How do you mean?"

"Would you be so kind as to continue your honesty?"

"Should I ignore that you think me to have ever been dishonest?" She teases with a smile, he responds with an equally cheeky grin.

"Do you feel that our time together in London had shown you an indication of our relationship? Even if it was not inherently romantic in nature?"

Jill thinks on the question for a moment before speaking. "I believe that some instances proved our reliance on one another as… partners first, second to that I would hesitate to call it friendship, but I find no other word to explain our situation. It was… undoubtably a strange occurrence that I'd have never envisioned for myself."

"On the field of battle… You said that you trusted me without question. Could you say that sentiment still holds true?"

"Undoubtedly. And you Mr. Redfield? You seemed ever so willing to follow me blindly throughout that chaos. Do I still hold your trust?"

"You are the one person in all the world I trust without question, to give you my heart would be easy if I still had possession of it. But I am afraid you have already taken it for your own." Mr. Redfield mimics her words back to her.

She'd spoken them, of course, upon her initial admission of great care for the man before her. In one of their first letters, he expressed remorse for past deeds and she had reiterated them as reminder of her devotion. Now she smiles at him, her heart swelling as she speaks.

"I see your memorization skills have improved."

He let out a bark of a laugh before speaking. "Miss Valentine, those words are all consuming. I think on them so often it has become a part of the gospel I worship and I… I love you. Sometimes I feel my heart must break in order for me to love you as much as you are worthy of."

Jill feels a blush creep up her cheeks as he speaks, it is not as if she has not heard him sing her praises. His letter were drenched in adoration, but to hear the words come from him instead of imagining them; it brings her a sense of completion in her own reverence of him.

"Have you any more questions in dire need of my frankness? You must be hungry from your travels and I'd imagine exhausted as well."

He shakes his head, "None of those feelings are more pressing than my need to be beside you."

"Mr. Redfield, we may not have much time here, but we've enough for you to rest."

"There could never be enough time with you…" He seems to hesitate and Jill begins to worry.

"Is everything alright?"

Mr. Redfield nods, "Miss Valentine, it may perhaps be forward of me to speak thusly, but I want to spend every waking moment with you."

Jill is confused by the notion at first until the realization of his implication strikes her.

"I have loved you for so long, it seems, and you have consumed my life in the past two years of our acquaintance. I watched you save the world and knew I couldn't imagine my own world without you in it."

He slowly begins to lower himself to one knee, still holding onto her hand as he beams up at her. Jill feels breathless and idiotic as she blinks blindly at him.

"I thank god everyday for granting me the opportunity to love you, it would be more than a blessing if you and I were to be bonded forever. Miss Valentine, would you allow me the honor of becoming your husband?"

Once the shock of his question washes over her, Jill can finally bring herself to smile back at the man before her. He who worships her above all else and covets her as every great lover should. In the old world she knew, Jill would have taken great pleasure in rejecting this man. Now she could never fathom such a thing, she grips his hand in hers and she nods.

"Yes." She hardly speaks the word, it sounds more like a breath falling out of her mouth.

Mr. Redfield practically leaps to his feet, lifting her into his arms as he does so.

She laughs in his strong hold until he returns her feet to the ground.

"Yes?" He asks, quite nearly in disbelief.

"Yes." Jill nods again, this time repeating the word louder.

Mr. Redfield laughs again, "God has been too kind to me."

"No, I believe that honor belongs to me." Jill laughs as he brings her in for another embrace.

There's a heartbeat of silence between them, where Jill turns her gaze up towards Mr. Redfield and she truly believes he will kiss her. A proper kiss, that is, and she finds herself yearning for him to do so.

However, instead Jill's mother erupts into the study, tears streaming down her cheeks as she steals her daughter from her betrothed.

"Oh, Jill." He mother sighs. There's something forlorn in her gaze mingling with all the joy she exudes. "How is it possible that I can be so happy and yet so sad?"

"Mother-"

"I did not think it would be so hard to let you go… after everything…"

Jill tucks her mother into her arms, chuckling slightly as she assures her mother. "I'm not married right this very second, we've sometime before that day comes."

"I know that." Mrs. Valentine pulls away from her daughter, brushing back the long locks of Jill's hair she smiles. "You're happy?"

"More than I feel I've any right to be." Jill admits.

"Good." Mrs. Valentine kisses her daughter's forehead before embracing her future son.

Mr. Valentine had trailed in after his wife at his feeble pace, his eyes also shine with emotion as he approaches his daughter.

"You've satisfied your mother quite thoroughly, Jill. Are you proud of yourself?" He asks with a chuckle.

"I am indeed."

He nods, "I would have never admitted such a thing before, but I am quite relieved that you've found a life partner."

"Didn't want me joining the army?" Jill teases.

"Of course not." He scoffs, lifting one hand to her cheek. Jill squeezes his hand until he speaks once more. "I'm so thankful to know you're in good hands…"

Jill watches her father move to Mr. Redfield and in mere seconds Mr. Valentine has pulled a knife out on the younger gentlemen.

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Papa!" Jill gasps, mildly humored by the look on her fiancé's face.

"If you so much as entertain the thought of hurting her, you'll lose more than your life." Mr. Valentine threatens.

"Papa, I'm surprised at you! You think I wouldn't have killed him three times over before you even caught wind of trouble? Do you think so little of me?" Jill jests as her father lowers the knife.

"I could never, but I know men better than you ever will." Mr. Valentine shakes the hand of a visibly rattled Mr. Redfield. "You're a fine young man."

"Th-thank you."

"I have lunch ready in the garden for you, oh this is so exciting! A wedding!" Mrs. Valentine hurries off towards the garden in question.

"You best come quickly before she starts crying again." Mr. Valentine chuckles, "Or worse yet, I start to cry."

Jill takes Mr. Redfield's hand and smiles at him, "Come on now, don't stand there gawking. It's time to impress them."

"Oh… joy." He laughs.

"They already love you, don't be afraid."

"I need something to fear in this world now that unmentionables are going extinct." Mr. Redfield chuckles.

"And that will be me, won't it?"

"I imagine the Redfield name will only give you more reason to combat me, so perhaps you're right." He laughs.

"What would your parents have thought of me?" She asks.

"Mother would have absolutely adored you." He says wistfully. "She'd have laughed when hearing about our meetings and then would have told me I deserved every last one of your dressing downs."

"They weren't that common…" Jill claims wracking her memory for just how many instances of abrasiveness he endured to gain her affection.

"Father would have wanted me to marry you the second he heard your last name. He had such a fascination with great military leaders, your father's accomplishments were well spoken of in our household. And then if he heard that you'd befriend Claire I would have had no say in the matter."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, he worried for Claire greatly, she had seldom few friends growing up. It was a great fear of his that she would end up alone in the world. I know exactly how it would have gone as well."

"Pray tell."

"The moment he'd caught wind of you befriending my sister he'd have sat me down and instructed me to court you."

"And when he heard of our first meeting?"

"He'd probably drag me to this very estate and demand I apologize."

Jill laughs lightly, "I do wish I could have met them."

"As do I, perhaps you are their last gift to Claire and I. You're everything either of them could hoped for… For both of their children."

"The same can be said of you and my parents, mother was more than thrilled to have you as a son the second she heard of your arrival. And my father only cares for my happiness, the poor man."

"And are you happy with me?"

Jill pulls his arm so that he stands closer still to her, "I was simply happy to have your letters, to have you here is more than that. You know the weight of which I give you, do you not? My name, my heart, my loyalty; the least I would ask in exchange for that is happiness and yet from you I need not ask for any of it."

Mr. Redfield beams at her as they reach the garden, their conversation coming to an end with the both of them positively gleeful. Mrs. Valentine is quickly beginning to rifle through appropriate lengths of time for an engagement. She reiterates many points that Jill does not heed at all, her mind is far too wrapped up in thoughts of her beloved.

Mr. Redfield is a wonder with her mother, entertaining everyone of her ideas with vigor and interest. Jill cannot help but think upon all that has brought her to this very moment.

She is content and in love, two ideas that should be impossible. In all things, perhaps fate is a kinder creature than she had ever believed. What a fool she'd been.


End file.
